Anamnesis
by Arrow
Summary: As the Exile and Revan's crews merge into one to fight a new threat that followed Revan from the Unknown Regions, their pasts collide and their memories shape their actions. Sequel to Hindsight and Foresight. Chapter 5 added.
1. Chapter 1

Sequel to Hindsight and Foresight, starts where Hindsight left off.

* * *

There was a bitter cold in the stagnant air of the _Ebon Hawk_ as the ship's turbines sputtered, attempting to reach a higher speed than the current snail's pace they were running in the ruined atmosphere of Malachor V.

The _Hawk's _pilot nursed a deep cut to his forehead and swore at the controls. "Move, you stupid piece of –"

"Atton," the tired voice of a Zabrak, holding his side with his good arm (he seemed to have misplaced the other one), and favoring what looked like a broken rib, came from behind him, "I tried getting the hyperdrive online. It should work, but there's still some damage. I need a little more time."

Atton held a cloth that was slowly covering in blood pressed against his forehead. "And?"

Bao-Dur narrowed his vision and winced as the ship jerked, "Stop messing with the controls and let her drift, you're messing up the calibrations."

Atton groaned and lifted himself out of the chair. He walked down the hallway to the medbay, where a blonde-haired blue-eyed woman had been sitting quietly for the last hour. He turned toward Mical, clenching his teeth, "You gonna use your fancy Jedi powers to fix the gash coming out of my head or you just going to stare at her all day?"

Disciple frowned, "She hasn't moved for over an hour," he looked up at the gash. "Besides why don't you use your lessons to fix your wound?"

Atton winced as spots danced in front of his eyes. "Because I didn't get that far, got it? So if you want a _living_ pilot, fix me up!"

The younger man let out a quiet sigh and shot another concerned look towards the woman before tending to the aggravating pilot's wounds. When he was done Atton poked at the bandage experimentally and stumbled. "Careful," warned Mical.

Atton groaned loudly and cradled his head. "Oh, this is worse than that hangover during the Pazaak Championship in Coruscant!"

The blonde man ignored him. "How are Bao-Dur and Mira?"

Atton blinked, "The Zabrak is nursing his chest and his arm is missing, which can't be good… and I have no idea where our lady of the bounties went."

Mical shook his head softly and left Atton in the medbay, hearing him start to talk to the catatonic woman, "So… if you can't say anything, I've got a couple of questions to ask."

Mical decided to not to interfere; it might bring her out of it, if only to yell at the scoundrel. He breathed in deeply, stepping over the buzzing protocol droid looking in search of the rest of the injured crewmembers. Visas was still unconscious in the port dorms, still exhausted from her encounter on the Ravager. Mira favored a split lip and a broken leg. Her face was hard from her trek on the planets surface and she had a new blade in her hands that she refused to talk about. The copper colored droid that was left was shifting his blaster around and shooting out sparks every time he turned.

Another hour passed before anything else happened. Then there was a high-pitched beeping from the security room. "What the hell?" Atton's voice came from the communications relay, rattling throughout the ship-.

Mira limped behind the rest of the crew, with Bao-Dur helping her, apparently finding his other arm. Mical walked, careful not to trip over T3-M4 again and HK-47 slowly brought up the rear.

"What is it, Atton?" Bao-Dur asked, still supporting Mira's weight.

Atton shook his head. His eyes were wide in disbelief. "You'll never believe this, but someone is comming us."

Mira grunted and tried to lean on her good leg unsuccessfully, "And we wouldn't believe that why? Maybe it's some Republic do-gooders."

"Or another Sith ship to finish the job," Bao-Dur said softly.

Mira frowned at him, "Great optimism there, BD."

Atton waved his hand towards the viewscreen. "It's coming from one of the dead ships…" Everyone was silent as they stared at the beeping console. "Well?" Atton asked. No one said anything. He pressed the comm button.

A crackle of static came through, followed by a strong female voice. "Space it, you guys have incredible timing."

No one knew how to react, until T3-M4 started whirring and HK-47 spoke up, "Master?"

One the other side of the ship, the woman still in the medbay stood up suddenly.

* * *

Atton 'Jaq' Rand – 17 Years Earlier

Even the weather seemed like it was saying goodbye. That might have just been the egotist in him, but leaving home was a big deal. So it was nice that the sky seemed to appreciate the significance. He hoped the sky would appreciate him when he was piloting in it.

His father sighed again. Jaq Rand was keeping count. That made sixteen now.

"Pops. I have to get to base soon," he shifted his pack on his shoulders. "This goodbye gonna take another six hours, or are you going to accept the fact that I'll call?"

His father didn't seem to catch the smart crack. "You look just like your mother." The older man's eyes were misty, he seemed somewhere else.

Jaq shifted on his feet and shot a glance at his sister, she was clinging to the doorway, eyes the same as his staring back at him. It was too eerie. Suppose he could blame his father for that too. "Yeah well so did your last wife," he smirked, "so don't start in on me now."

His father's eyes darkened and he pulled Jaq in for a solid embrace. "She had the spark, Jaq. You do too – use it well. Those Republics—they don't deserve you."

Jaq patted him awkwardly on the back and pulled back with a fake smile. "Yeah… I'll try." He cleared his throat and shot another glance at his half-sister. "So, Vi, you gonna say goodbye or just gawk at me for the rest of the time it takes Pops to go through another would-will speech?"

His sister stared at him for a long moment, before she turned and left.

Jaq scratched his neck. "Something I said?"

"Viane doesn't have much, but she's got the smarts to miss you." His father gripped Jaq's shoulder. "I know you'll make me proud, son. Just like your mother would have."

Jaq sighed and shrugged. "She's not dead, Pops. She's a Je-" He shook his head sharply. "Forget it." His father wouldn't have listened anyway. Denial was infallible if the man wanted it to be. Jaq smiled at him. "Larx is meeting me at the stop, so— I'll get going now." He inclined his head towards the door. "Take care, Pops. I'll – um… call when I get there."

His father's shoulders slumped so far that his head rested on his chest. "You go on, Jaq. There's nothing here but wounded old men. Go find your own future."

Jaq smirked. "That's the plan."

* * *

Atton 'Jaq' Rand – Now

If someone had told Atton a few months ago that he'd be floating on an old smuggling vessel through the Malachor system waiting for _Revan_'s ship to attach to theirs – he probably would have shot them. Of course if someone had told Atton that now, he could just slice their head with his lightsaber.

It was amazing how quickly the Jedi weapon became a comfort. He started to grip it at his side. At least he wasn't all gone; he was also gripping his blaster.

"Do you think that is actually Revan?" Blondie was talking. It took Atton a moment to register.

Atton blinked and shrugged one shoulder.

Mira seemed capable enough to jump in. She always did. Voice grating like a shyrack in heat. "The copper droid seems to think so," she said, keeping her weight to one side, "If we could get even a word out of the catatonic exile back there maybe we'd know for sure."

"It is Revan," Jene's voice was soft. Atton hadn't even noticed her behind him. She didn't seem to be noticing him either as she stared at the docking hatch, her eyes cloudy.

Mical was quick to jump all over her. It made Atton's hand clench tighter on his blaster. He had to remind himself – there were bigger things to worry about than Blondie using his medical excuses to feel Jene up.

"Are you all right? You haven't spoken since we left—"

Jene cut him off with her hand and strolled back towards the direction of the medbay. Blondie sighed. He looked torn between going after her and waiting to see if Revan was really coming. He ended up staying with the rest of them. The choice was simple for Atton – Jene would still be in the medbay later, but seeing what was going to come through those doors. That was different. Of course things had been nothing but different since Peragus. Sometimes he even pretended that none of what he'd done had ever existed. That he'd never been anything but what he was now.

But of course, what he was now was just the same as always. A deserter waiting for the next opportunity to break.

Bao-Dur shook his head. "The ship won't fix itself." He hobbled towards the back. The Zabrak either really didn't care, or he really didn't want to see what was coming. Couldn't blame him. Either curiosity or fear was gonna win out with all of the crew. So far, two for fear, the rest for being nosey bastards. Of course with the way Jene had been acting since their last stop on Dantooine, Atton was sure if she was afraid of anything. Maybe she just didn't care anymore.

The docking hatch clicked and everyone left (which at the moment only included Blondie, Red, and the droids) stared at it. There wasn't a sound anywhere else on the ship.

Except for the swearing. Loud, and in a few languages Atton couldn't catch, came from behind the hatch.

"Unlocking the damn thing would be super!" came a muffled exclamation in basic from behind the metal.

Everyone stared at him. Expecting Atton to be the one to do something. Not because he was the bravest, but because he was the first one they'd shove in front of blaster fire. Nothing had changed. He shook his head and lifted his hand – using the Force used to be harder, used to be something he was scared of. Now it let him not move from his spot. Just a shove on the air around them and the door slid open.

And she walked in.

To say she wasn't what he was expecting would be the understatement of the year. He had never seen Revan without her mask and even in his darkest imaginations – this was not what he would have pictured. Her dark hair hung in a bedraggled mess down to her hips, stains covered her face. It looked like the robes she was wearing had been torn and sewn together so much that they were ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. But most of all, never did Atton think Darth Revan would smell this bad.

But it was definitely her. He didn't know how he knew – but it was her.

"Frackshitfrack—I am so damn _glad_ to be off that fracking frackty frack ship!" Revan glanced around the docking bay before settling on the two droids. She grinned. "Tee, HK!" In a sharp instant her face morphed into a scowl at the astromech droid. "What the hell happened to my ship? I ask you to take care of it for a while and you let her get all banged up to hell."

T3-M4 beeped a few choice responses at her.

She scoffed. "Hey, four years is so _a while_. If it was five you could complain."

HK-47 whirred excitedly. More excited than Atton had ever seen him. "Exclamation: Oh, Master it makes my processors buzz in delight that you have returned! Observation: With much evidence that you have been practicing carnage without me."

Revan popped her neck. "Yeah. Well don't tie your wires in a knot, HK. With me around, I'm sure there's much more carnage to come." She blinked and glanced around the room where everyone was staring at her. "Uh… hey. Thanks for the ride—" She stared at each of them before settling on Atton. "The refresher broken?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Not last time I checked."

Revan grinned at him. "Best damn news I've heard all year. The fracking damn stupid moffa refresher on that piece of Republic junta ass ship broke seven months in and I haven't had a decent sonic in years. Not to mention not having even a water dip in three weeks." She smirked. "Lovely of you all to not comment on the smell." She pushed past them and made way towards the refresher down the hall.

Mira looked like she was going to say something but ended up dropping her hands to her sides as they made their way down the path Revan had taken.

Atton snorted. "You're speechless? That's a first."

Mira glared at him, but was cut off when Revan popped her head out again. "Tee, set in a course for Dxun. It's close enough and I wanna check on how far Cand has gotten. Oh and I've pretty much ruined the Qel-Droma robes so get me some clothes too."

T3-M4 beeped indignantly.

"Yes, yes you are," Revan replied. "And I don't. A while apart should let you forget that." She popped back in and slammed the door.

There was an awkward silence, save for the whir of the astromech droid heading towards the cockpit. Then the sonic switched on and uncomfortably happy noises came through. Atton edged away from the door, still not knowing quite how to react.

He was going for indifference to hide his confusion. It seemed to work well enough.

Mical seemed to come back into himself after a long moment. "So that was Revan."

"Oh and you're the smart one?" Atton snapped. Okay, biting and rude worked too. He couldn't change his habits now.

Blondie regarded him balefully for a moment before turning towards Mira. "I have seen the reports in the archives. She—matches the description."

Mira put her finger under her nose. "Does it say anything about the stink? I never thought I'd have to smell someone worse than Atton."

Atton sneered at her, trying to think of something clever to say, when he noticed Blondie edging back towards the direction of the medbay. Atton cut him off and headed towards it, instead. He leaned against the doorway when he got there; glancing at Jene still in the same position she had been in earlier. "Something up?"

Jene lifted her head and stared at him blankly before waving her hand and muttering, "Fool." The door slid shut.

Atton stepped back sharply. He shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess we're going to Dxun then." He said to no one as he strolled towards the cockpit.

* * *

Bao-Dur – 10 Years Earlier

"This seat taken?" Her voice was so soft and uncommanding that for a moment he didn't even recognize her.

Bao-Dur shook his head and inclined towards the barstool next to him. He took a sip of his juma and glanced at her again. "Don't order the Corellian Whisky, General. It's a bad bet."

She eyed him for a moment and then nodded and looked at the bartender. "Ruby Bliel." She stared at the counter for a moment after the bartender had placed the drink in front of her. "I don't drink much."

"I didn't think Jedi drank at all, General." Bao-Dur took another sip of his juma.

She gave him a look that was half a wince and half a smile. "We don't." She sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. "We don't leave against the Council's wishes or take on too much responsibility ahead of our time, either."

Bao-Dur was silent for a moment, staring at the glass in his hand. Since the Jedi joined the war, the Mandalorians had finally started losing as much ground as they had taken. "Well I think I can say for all of us, General. I'm glad you did."

She gave him a real smile that time. "So am I." She finished off her glass fairly quickly and put it down. "I hate lulls."

The Zabrak nodded. "Most men enjoy the break."

She sighed. "I know it's a good thing that the fighting has— stopped for now, but it feels like—"

"The eye of the storm."

The blonde nodded, pushing some of her hair behind her ears. "It never seems to be over."

His hand traveled to his pocket, the plans he'd been working on still there. Like they had been for the past week while he hashed out the details. "It could be soon." There could be one quick takedown of millions of Mandalorian lives and then no more Republic deaths. No more friends and family dying. It was amazing how simple it could be.

The General sighed and put down the glass, calling the bartender over. "Revan likes your idea, Bao-Dur." He didn't have a chance to say anything in response. She turned to the bartender.. "Something stronger. Expired is fine." She pushed her glass forward. "I think I'm past the age of flush drinks."

The bartender said something witty and poured her a glass of firewhiskey. She drank it back with a cringe. "So—" she coughed, turning back to him again. "Ready for the end of the lull?"

Bao-Dur brushed his thumb against the plans for the Mass Shadow Generator. "Permanently, General."

General Jene Wynn slammed the rest of the whiskey back and put the glass down on the bar. She stood up and dropped a few creds on the bar. "Aren't we all?" she said in her soft voice again, before walking off.

Bao-Dur – Now

His ribs were still ached and his arm kept sparking out, but the ship needed to be fixed -- Revan or no. It didn't matter how many times T3-M4 put in the coordinates to Dxun or Atton yelled at the console, the ship wasn't going to work unless Bao-Dur could fix the hyperdrive.

Sometimes he wished things would just stay fixed.

"Hey there," Mira stepped in swiftly, not limping now, and kicked the hyperdrive. "How's it coming? Atton's still swearing at the controls and T3." She leaned over to regard his work.

Bao-Dur raised one eyebrow and held out his hand. "Hydrospanner."

Mira snorted and stared at the box with her hand extended. After a moment she frowned and snapped her fingers, shuffling towards his toolbox and grabbing it out. "It's not as easy as it looks."

His lips quirked and he took the hydrospanner from her. "I know, or I would have gotten it myself." He pushed the tool into the hyperdrive, trying to finish the process of aligning the servos. He glanced at Mira out of the corner of his vision. "You're not limping."

"Mical fixed me up," she tapped her foot against the ground as if testing her statement. "Kid's not bad at that kind of stuff."

Bao-Dur turned his head slightly to give her a level stare. "Kid?"

"He acts like one. Too naïve for this business – this life." Mira sighed and rested her hands on her hips. "I guess all Jedi are. I mean look at the Exile. Jene's just locked herself up in the medbay ever since we left Malachor. And even before that she was acting —"

Strange. Ever since their return trip to Dantooine, the General had been acting very strange and unlike herself. Bao-Dur shook his head. "I'm sure the General will be fine after she rests. Malachor was—" He glanced around his shoulder, missing the familiar buzz of his remote hovering around. "Tough."

"Yeah," Mira said hoarsely. "They weren't kidding about that place." She rubbed her arms like she was cold. "Guess you'd know though, huh?"

Bao-Dur slammed the last servos into place mercilessly. "Yes, I would." He stood up, wincing, as his ribs pinched against his chest. "Ship should be fine to make a hyperspace jump. I need to overhaul her more carefully when we land, but she should get us to a safe planet to rest on."

Mira grabbed his arm and slung it over her shoulder. "Come on, BD – let's let Mical check you out too. You're no good to us broken."

Bao-Dur sighed and allowed himself to be supported by her. He shot another glance over his shoulder as they made their way to the medbay. "Everything breaks."

They found Mical standing outside the medbay staring and frowning at the door. "She won't talk to me," he said with a frown. "She hasn't since Dantooine."

Mira cleared her throat. "Di?" She gestured at Bao-Dur's torso. "You think you could get out of sulk mode and fix up our mechanic?"

Mical blinked and straightened himself out. "Yes, I am sorry. How may I help?"

"I think he broke a rib," Mira said.

Bao-Dur sighed. "I don't think it's that serious."

Mira smacked her hand against his side and he let out a low hiss, gritting his teeth. Bao-Dur stared at her. "What was that for?"

"Did that hurt?"

"Yes."

Mira smiled at him and turned to Mical. "Broken rib."

Bao didn't have a response to that as Mical strolled over to take a look at him, a medpack hanging at the blonde's side. He shooed Mira away but she just smiled and leaned against the opposite wall. Mical stared at Bao-Dur's side. "You're lucky I happened to procure some medical supplies before the Exile locked herself in the medbay." He immodestly lifted up Bao-Dur's shirt and shot kolto right into his side, before bandaging him up.

Bao-Dur tried not to look suspicious of the younger man, but his technique was definitely not the training of a scholar. It was battle medicine. Of course, the blonde could just have been too preoccupied with the General to have any bedside manner. He pulled down his shirt with his good arm and nodded. "Thanks."

Mical had already turned back to staring at the medbay door.

Bao-Dur shook his head and turned towards Mira. "I'll go tell Atton the _Hawk_ can fly."

Mira pushed herself off the wall and patted his arm. "I'll tell him. You go fix your arm, BD. It's still sparking." She smiled at him and walked towards the cockpit.

He glanced at his arm with a sigh as it sparked and fizzled. "So it is."

Everything was broken.

Sometimes he wished things would just stay fixed.

* * *

Jarysh Forn – 4,019 BBY

Jarysh picked burrs out of his hair as he rounded the corner. Idia was standing, arms crossed, staring at the outsiders. Jarysh had tried to come by to see them earlier, but so had everyone else in their settlement. Eventually, the Chief had made a proclamation that only his family could see the outsiders until they found out what threat they could pose.

Now that he was being summoned to talk to them.. well he tried to keep the grin off his face. Maybe they were dangerous and the Chief needed someone to take them out. Or maybe they were rich and wanted to buy some of the settlers. He could maybe get a good deal for his sister – she was always bothering him.

Idia looked relieved to see him. She threw her arms up and gave him a stare that clearly said she needed help.

Jarysh tried to down his grin as he came towards her. The two outsiders' mouths were in thin lines and they looked just as frustrated as Idia had before she'd seen him. "Roe sent for me." He lifted his chin and tried to go to his full height. Although with just an old man and a pregnant woman, the outsiders didn't look like much threat.

"I can barely understand them and I'm the only one in the family that speaks –" Idia crinkled her nose with a look of distaste and said in the outsider's harsh language, "Twi'lek."

Jarysh nodded at her and turned towards the outsiders. He knew more about the outside than the rest of the settlers, since his father had been from the outer planets and had taught him what he knew. "I'm Jarysh," he said in Twi'lek. "What are you trying to get across?"

They stared at each other and the woman, her face softening slightly without losing its edge, spoke to him. "I'm Nalah Qel-Droma and this is Ovik Lore." She pointed at the older man behind her. "We were trying to explain to your—" she glanced at the woman.

"We're not related," Jarysh answered, feeling a little off. He couldn't even begin to understand where they would get that assumption. Idia was clearly of chief's blood when Jarysh was mixed.

Nalah and Ovik glanced at each other before the older one spoke. "Excuse my Padawan. It's just that you look so similar and those eyes—" He gestured to their face. "Well where we come from that's a very genetic trait." He coughed and ran a hand through his thinning beard.

Jarysh glanced at Idia and then back at the outsiders. "Padawan?" That was not a word he'd heard before.

"It means student," Nalah said with a sigh. She muttered something under her breath and rested a hand on her stomach, before speaking plainly to Ovik in another language. "I hate speaking Twi'lek – I wish these people knew basic."

"Patience, Nalah," Ovik said quietly in the same language.

Jarysh narrowed his vision at them. Trying to gage the correct way to say it. It wasn't too hard – all the information was right in front of him. "What is basic?" He said in the language they'd been muttering in.

Nalah and Ovik stared openly at him, eliciting a frown from Idia. Nalah looked like she was desperate to say something, but Ovik raised his hand and spoke instead. "What we were asking Idia earlier was if you were aware of the Force."

Jarysh furrowed his brow. "Force?"

Nalah spread the fingers that were resting on her stomach and stared directly at him. After a moment the air around her tensed and a faint glow, not quite visible, was clear to him. "Force." She repeated before lifting her hand and sending the glow towards a rock and having it bounce up and down.

Idia shot back behind Jarysh immediately, her green eyes wide. "Ashla!" she hissed. She pounded a fist on Jarysh's arm. "Sith'ari!"

Both words caught the outsiders' attention, but only the second one caused Nalah to drop the rock.

Jarysh frowned at them, standing in front of Idia. "Yes." He said in Twi'lek. "We are aware of the Force." He turned towards the rock face and pointed at the wreckage of the old settlement just beyond the mountains. "Intimately."

There was a cold silence before Nalah squeaked and pressed a hand on her stomach. "Ulic, you have horrible timing," she muttered.

Ovik put a wrinkled hand towards Jarysh. "We are not Sith. Let me show you."

Idia hissed warnings and curses behind him, but Jarysh put his hand in the old man's. After a long silence that was just that glow and the whisper of the wind, Ovik drew back and spoke clearly in the Settler language. "Your Sith are quite different, I see."

Jarysh closed his eyes, trying to focus on the images and information that had carefully made it's way into his mind. "They are not the same." He opened his eyes and stared at both of them. "Ours are worse."

* * *

Jarysh Forn – Now

Jarysh frowned at the control panel and ran a hand over his clean-shaven head. It hadn't been too hard to acclimatize himself to this area and gain some contacts in the last month or so, but it had been different. Lonely. The past four years he'd had someone with him and now she was—well it was too late to think on it. It just gave Jarysh more reason to fight _them_.

Although it seemed that _they_ were finding ways to go on the offensive. It would have been easier with her here. He sighed and sat back down on his chair, staring at the empty readout. _Their_ trail had been hot an hour ago and then it had completely disappeared. _They_ were being too sporadic in their attacks and movements since he'd followed _them_ to this region.

"What are you planning?" he mumbled at the blank screen, which still awaited a destination.

There had to be some kind of connection to it all. An entire planet decimated by some creature. Some Exile person as the last Jedi – that only proved what she'd said about the Republic's intelligence, since, in the short time he'd been here, Jarysh had run into a few Jedi already. He didn't understand what would cause the remaining Jedi to hide either, but the latest information about Jedi history he had was from before the Exar Kun War. (Whatever that was.) And what he'd found in the last few weeks. Which wasn't much.

The screen blinked for a few moments before flashing. Coordinates started to appear. Jarysh leaned forward, watching intently. He had been afraid of losing _their_ trail and not picking it up before it was too late.

The energy signatures were faint, maybe only a few of them, or an older ship. But they came from somewhere not too far away. Jarysh input the coordinates into a nearby monitor, where he had uploaded a galaxy map of the area.

The result came back with one planet. Telos.

Jarysh frowned and leaned back in his chair. It seemed he wouldn't be able to forget her after all.

What was it that she had always said? _The Force has a sick sense of humor._

Jarysh sighed and lifted himself back up towards the pilots seat, setting in a course for the coordinates he'd received. "If you were alive, Revan, you would probably think this was funny."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Quick apology for how long this chapter took, I was hit with an inordinate amount of school work and stress, plus it was not as easy as I expected writing this out. I'd also like to thank the people that I stole from for certain names and possibly concepts, they know who they are and what I took and are either okay with it or have been drugged to think so.

* * *

Mical Jorde - 8 Years Earlier 

The chair was fairly interesting. It had grooves in it that Mical hadn't noticed the last time. Of course, the last time he sat in it was over seven years ago. When he thought he'd never have to sit here again.

"Look me in the eye like a man, Mical," his father chided. "The Jedi did not fluff that out of you, did they?"

Mical stopped looking at the chair and stared his father in the eyes. Well slightly above his eyes so he didn't actually have to be eye to eye with the man. The last time he'd tried that, he'd conveyed more than he wanted to. "No, father."

His father looked him up and down. "So the Jedi didn't work out, I see."

Mical wanted to point out how incredibly obvious _that_ was, but he knew better. "No, Father."

"I did say it would be a waste of time," his father went on, tapping his cigarran against the ash case.

It had been one of the most wonderful wastes of time that Mical had ever been involved in. He still wasn't sure if never experiencing it would have been better than the ache of never experiencing it again. "Yes, Father."

"Well next time you should listen to me." His father scoffed and took a long dignified puff from his cigarran. "The Jedi order is no place for a Jorde."

"Yes, Father." The window next to his father was frosted. The environmental controls must have been set on winter alert. The atmosphere wasn't the glacial snow of Belsavis, but it was as close as he was going to come in central Coruscant.

It had snowed on Dantooine once. Very lightly, but the wind was strong enough to blow snow flakes over the entire Enclave. Mical hadn't realized he was still staring at the window, until his father cleared his throat.

"Mical. In my eyes --"

Mical turned his head. "Yes, Father."

"You're almost a man now." His father looked more skeptical than proud at that thought. "And now that this Jedi business is behind us, you will be doing work for me with the senate."

His mother, a lone golem behind his father's chair, only said one word. "Woodre."

Mical's father barely glanced up at the sound of his name. "Well your mother seems to think you thrived under their tutelage," he scoffed and took another dignified puff of his cigarran. "So we got you into the University." He held up his hand before Mical could respond. "I know you're only old enough for Secondary, but it's a very advanced program and you _will_ keep up with it."

His mother smiled lightly and gestured to one of their servants, who was even more a part of the scenery than Mrs. Jorde herself, to come over and place three pamphlets in front of him. Mical stared at them and then glanced at his parents before moving forward and examining each one.

They all started out with _Your Journey to_ and then ended with _Politics, Medicine_, and _Senatorial Law_. Obviously the last two choices were just there to give Mical the illusion of having a choice. He probably could have gotten away with Senatorial Law, but his he found himself picking up the Medicine brochure.

He had been fairly decent at healing and—_she_ had taught a class on it. Just the thought of that memory made Mical smile slightly. He leaned back in his chair and thumbed through the pamphlet. Mical knew then that if he could feel this way with even the memory of the Jedi, it was clear that going to them _was_ the right choice. No matter how it had turned out.

His father was frowning across from him. "Aren't you even going to look at the other pamphlets?"

Mical stared him in the eyes. "No, Father." He went back to thumbing through his pamphlet.

* * *

Mical Jorde – Now 

Mical frowned as he listened to the argument taking over the cockpit. He wondered how he should start his report to the Admiral. Maybe by briefing him on the arrival of Revan, who was _still_ taking up the refresher and possibly using up all of the recirculated water on the ship. Or he could mention how Malachor V was now an orbiting pile of rocks instead of a ravaged world. Perhaps he should mention how the Exile had locked herself in the _Ebon Hawk_'s medbay and hadn't been normal since Dantooine.

Although, Mical supposed, he was the only one interested in the last. The Admiral had seemed obsessed with _Ebon Hawk_ and any information on Revan. Maybe this next report would earn Mical a commendation.

Or quite possibly, the ship could crash into an asteroid field and explode while its ragtag crew was still arguing.

"The calibrations are screwed up as it is, Zabrak," Atton snapped, hovering carefully in front of the controls. "If you want us to safely land on a planet, back off."

Bao-Dur frowned. "The calibrations are _screwed up_, because you took her into hyperspace on a rift."

"If you don't like my piloting you can get off here." Atton curled his lip up as he stepped forward.

"Would you guys quit yapping?" Mira pushed herself in between them. "We're gonna be on Dxun soon anyway, so just calm down before you end up tail-spinning us into a black hole or some awful planet – like Zeltros."

Both men turned their attention towards the redhead. Atton spoke first. "What's wrong with Zeltros?"

Mira snorted. "Yeah, planet full of sick pink freaks who are all hopped up on pheromones trying to get into your pants. I think I'm fine getting my own action."

"Says the virgin," Atton muttered.

Mira retorted by elbowing him in the stomach, hard. Atton edged forward, but didn't have a chance to go at her, because T3-M4 decided to shock him in the calf.

Mical decided it was better not to interrupt, although he doubted he was going to be able to make a good report to the Admiral if they crashed into the Dxun moon in a fiery freefall. He cleared his throat, alerting the crew of his presence. "Perhaps we should focus on the upcoming landing, instead of bickering. Any problems with the ship can be examined after we land."

"Provided the humidity doesn't mess up my instruments," Bao-Dur said sourly. Mira patted him on the arm and shot a glare at Atton as the scoundrel tried to kick her in the heel.

"Why the hell should we listen to you?" Atton went from scowling at Mira to scowling at Mical.

Mical sighed. "I was _agreeing_ with you, Atton."

Atton blinked. "Yeah… well, stop it."

Rolling his eyes would do no good at the moment, so Mical just softly shook his head and ignored the scoundrel. "Perhaps Dxun will be a good place to rest and reexamine more than the ship."

Mira narrowed her eyes and pointed one long finger at Mical. "I don't know what he means, but I'm pretty sure I'm not on board with it."

Bao-Dur shot a mournful glance at the thrum of hyperspace cutting out in the window and turned back towards the group. "The General might do well with some rest."

"And some thinking about why she let any of you losers on the ship," Atton snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mical was going to intervene with the oncoming argument, but he didn't have to. A loud, exuberantly happy noise came from behind them. Revan, wearing some clothes that she must have found somewhere, was towel drying her dark hair and grinning. "Morfrakca Junta Pall that feels good." She padded in on bare feet and peered over the control panel. "You guys already input the coordinates for landing. Nice. I guess Ordo already has something set up there. Better be good."

None of the crew responded. Or moved.

Revan sighed and shook her head. "Whatever, tell me when we land." She snapped her fingers, heading away from the cockpit. "T3! Find me shoes!"

Atton scratched his neck, giving Revan half a look before turning back to Bao-Dur. "So… Bao-Dur we're landing in five – hold tight." He slipped back into the pilot's seat.

Bao-Dur shook his head. "Fine, Atton." He limped off towards the cargo hold, with Mira on his heel.

Mical took a deep breath and headed towards the main area to finish his report to the Admiral, or at least start it.

_Admiral Carth Onasi :: Gren Section Telos :: Clearance Five Beta Six Gamma 48251-23_

_Revan took a very long shower. She smells much better than when she arrived on the ship._

Mical tapped his stylus against the datapad. Yes, that would go over extraordinarily well.

* * *

Faene Corr – 5 Years Earlier 

Iziz was a city of contradictions. It proclaimed peace and yet still housed a giant wall that kept out the descendants of outlaws. The Beastriders were not part of the 'peace and unity' that Iziz claimed. Not unless they conformed and even then they were ostracized. Onderon was supposed to be a modern planet of the outer rim, yet the doors still had key locks and almost every transaction and archive was recorded on paper. They were only nominally a part of the Republic: they never received any Republic aid and did not support their diplomatic intervention when it came. Onderon was a monarchy, and yet their were constant murmurings of rebellion.

Onderon was a study in contradictions, and maybe that was why it suited Faene Corr so well. She herself was a contradiction too, born and raised in the wilds of Onderon as a beastrider and come to Iziz with the former Queen Balen, to leave all she knew behind. Taking charge of Balen's militia and diplomatic arrangements was fine by her, but the larger responsibility of helping rear Talia when her mother died was far more difficult.

As was making calls when she needed to ask for help.

Somewhere on Coruscant, the Jedi master Kavar cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward to get closer to the comm. "I think I can tell from your face that this is not a social call."

Corr snorted, straightening herself out. She always hated talking on these things, but it was necessary. "Even without the ability to read minds, have I ever been known to make _social_ calls?"

Kavar shot her a grin and nodded, his blue countenance crackling on the screen. "Fair point. Then what, my old acquaintance, is this about?"

"You've been to Iziz a few times, even the wilds, you know the political situation here." Corr frowned and glanced at her window. Osh was circling around the outside of her room again. It was getting extremely annoying and she was going to have to accidentally bash his head into a wall when she got the chance. If she had any idea he was going to eventually follow her from the Wilds she would have carried a stun stick more often.

"Unrest since the Beastrider wars, yes. Especially with the young mixed-blood queen. I remember quite well," Kavar's mouth twisted. "I still have the scar on the back of my head to prove it."

"Talia is doing a fine job as Queen," Corr said tiredly, "But her cousin is insistent on having more and more responsibility, beyond his military standing from the Mandalorian Wars." She scratched her nose. "Vaklu is getting more and more bold and it's fairly obvious to me--" if not to the Queen. "— that he's planning a coup."

Kavar nodded, putting his chin in his hand. "I've met the man a few times, he always did seem to have more aspirations than his station." He looked off for a moment, "I have to be honest with you, Corr. There's not much I can do about political intrigue."

"There have been Jedi Watchmen here in the past," Corr started, ignoring his reservations. "And I know that my position with the Queen leaves me… vulnerable to whatever Vaklu has planned." She sighed. Talia was a good monarch, but she was young and pliable and willing to trust men she shouldn't. "I need someone here that would be less vulnerable. Talia needs help." She stopped whatever Kavar was about to say and continued on. "This is more than a simple case of civil unrest, if Vaklu tries to take power it will cause a tremendous gap within the city. The effects of which will be devastating for the entire sector, not to mention the other planets that are relying on Onderonian supplies."

Kavar rubbed his chin. "Telos…" He shook his head. "I am not—" Something crossed his face and he nodded to himself. "Actually, if we can keep my presence there quiet I believe I can come in the next few months. I have been… contemplating something related to the Jedi that would connect well to this." He smiled, "The Force does work in mysterious ways."

Corr felt relieved that he had agreed. She ignored his Force talk, it all came out like gibberish. "Quiet would be best. Let me know when you plan on arriving and I will make all the arrangements."

Kavar nodded and leaned forward to switch off his own comm. "You can also make a social call, Corr."

Corr quirked her lips. "I'll keep that in mind, Master Jedi." She flipped off the comm and lifted herself up out of the ornate chair to her sparsely decorated room.

She glanced at the window where Osh was circling again and pulled the curtains closed. She was very tempted to kick him next time she saw him, but it probably wouldn't be professional.

Well, maybe the next time she took a vacation.

* * *

Faene Corr – Now 

Mandalorians were annoying. They were beyond annoying; they were more frustrating than dealing with a portly half-drunk senator who thought her legs were just tall enough to climb. Or maybe it was just this particular group of Mandalorians. Or just this particular Mandalorian. Mandalore. _Please._ Corr had to resist rolling her eyes as he kept avoiding her questions. It wasn't as if they were entitled to this land -- if anything the Beastriders were. They had been hunting and using this land for their Rites for centuries.

She still wasn't sure if taking this offer of 'peace' to the Mandalorians occupying the Dxun moon was a good idea. But the look on Talia's face after Corr had been released from prison camp… well, neither of them had wanted to be near each other and the moon was apparently enough distance. Corr was tired of Iziz, and the outland colonies had made her remember the Wilds and the harshness of Vaklu's betrayal. Talia believed Vaklu. So Talia's betrayal had made the two years in prison even worse.

Of course if she had known Osh would be here representing the Beastrider influence she might have just jumped out the airlock. Corr cleared her throat again, ignoring Osh Takx to her left. "We are well aware that you have _claimed_ these lands as your own and the Queen has no intention of kicking you out."

"That's because she wouldn't be able to," the Mandalore said gruffly.

Corr almost did roll her eyes this time, but she caught herself seconds before it happened. "Yes. I'm sure, but for the time being the Queen is proposing an alliance until the Sith threat on Onderon is wiped out."

A dry snort from under that obnoxious metal helmet of his and the Mandalore spoke again. "I don't see how this relationship is beneficial to my clans."

Osh chose that moment to speak up, jerking his head back from eyeing the camp. He was wearing Beastrider leathers and a clip designating his position in the newly coalescent Izizian government. "You've explored probably a quarter of this moon."

"And?" Mandalore said, no change in his tone.

"And… Beastriders have been coming to this moon for generations. This is where our Rites are, where we become men," Osh puffed out his chest.

Corr rolled her eyes. "That's an old tradition, one you haven't completed yourself. So I guess sizing you up as a forty year-old boy works fine."

Osh glowered at her. "Fae, disagrees with me." Corr made a mental note to break his shin for calling her that later. Although with the way the Mandalorians had been acting they might appreciate it. "But," Osh continued, "that doesn't mean that my point isn't valid. You would cover a lot more ground and utilize your resources more efficiently with our help. We know the terrain and the animals." He raised dark eyebrows. "Just how many cannocks have eaten some of your good armor and equipment?"

Mandalore made a low noise that reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet.

"Exactly," Osh said with a grin.

"I'm surprised your Republic friends actually want to ally with Mandalorians," Mandalore said, ignoring Osh's smugness.

Corr let out a deep breath. "So am I." She straightened herself out to full height, towering above Osh and eye-to-eye with the Mandalore. Or eye to helmet at least. "But the Republic interest in the outer rim is not what it used to be, and Talia was grateful for the help you and the Jedi Exile showed during the insurgency, so she's willing to open up this land to your colony." The Mandalore seemed to stiffen when she used the word colony so she made a mental note to use it again.

"We're here to hash out the details and check for any residual Sith threats," Osh said, glancing over at his men who were scoping out the camp… and the Mandalorian women. "Even Mandalorians should value allies."

"If you'd like," Corr started, crossing her arms under her chest. "We could chew some hearts and spit them at you in a peace treaty. Or smoke some pipe made out of the remains of your enemies."

The Mandalore stayed unmoving for a long moment. "You seem to think I care about your monarchy or any of its dealings."

Corr snorted. "I don't even think that you think."

"Faene," Osh hissed.

Mandalore raised his chin for a moment, seeming to study her, and then snorted. "Fine. Stay, if you prove yourselves around the territory, then we'll speak of allies." He shook his head and headed off towards a cluster of Mandalorians towards the center of the camp.

"Super," Osh muttered.

Corr rolled her eyes and turned towards Osh. "We need to check out the area anyway, it's fine. Or are you too used to staying on the plush beds at the palace?"

Osh's mouth hung open a bit. "_Me_? I don't think two years in a prison camp has gotten you that in touch with the beasts to be calling _me_ a beast-traitor." But it had, more than Osh knew. Being on Dxun had reaffirmed it. She could hear all the beasts around them and it was much more relaxing than the chatter of people in Iziz.

"If I called you something it would be much vulgar than 'beast-traitor', Osh," she snapped.

Osh put his hands on his hips and tried to shimmy up to a fuller height. "I remember some pretty vulgar things said in the heat of the moment…"

"Really?" Corr sneered. "I don't seem to recall _heat_ unless it was summer."

Osh's mouth hung open and then he snapped it shut. "We have _diplomacy_ to attend to, Fae."

Corr glowered at him and was about to reconsider her previous idea of breaking his shin when the noise of space ship engines filled the air. Everyone in the camp looked up as a ship, the _Ebon Hawk_, from reports, slowly landed in the center of camp. The Mandalorians carelessly moved out of the way, except for the Mandalore who stared up at the ship as it landed a few feet from him.

"Su'cuy, Revan," the Mandalore muttered heavily as the ramp lowered. "Su'cuy."

* * *

Revan Talke – 3 Years Earlier 

"You are a _horrible_ travel guide," Revan hissed, shifting her weight, underneath the Oulanian native. Being squished in a dark, cold, and slightly damp cave was not her idea of a good time. And although usually being under a built man _would _be her idea of a good time, Jarysh was squishing the air of her lungs.

The tan man pressed his body against her more. His face pressed uncomfortably close to hers. "They have ears," he hissed. "Don't speak."

The _they_ he was referring to was getting closer. A young ''they', or it would have detected them by now and it inhabited a dumb, deaf, mute species, which only improved their chances. This breed of symbiotic Sith was beginning to get on Revan's nerves. Being in the ass-end of space was bad enough, but these Sith were like nothing she had ever encountered. They were part of the Force, but a sick dark energy that made her feel like she needed to take a shower whenever she got close.

On the outside they looked like little sea creatures that could only survive in shells, except the shells happened to be living beings they liked to core out before they took residence. It was messy and irreversible. Revan was not enjoying her vacation. Next time she was booking Zeltros.

But all self-imposed thought shut down as _it _came closer. It had thudding footsteps that reverberated in that sense that didn't quite have a name. Jarysh was taking in heavy breaths, which was grossly uncomfortable this close to her – and making everything more awkward. She found herself gripping the Oulanian's arms and shutting her eyes as _it_ came by. Sith'ari the natives called it. A perfect being of pure dark energy, surviving on the life force of others.

Light and dark didn't have as much meaning out here. At least light didn't.

There was a shuddering force through the cave walls, going through the enclosed tunnel she and Jarysh were currently occupying. And then it seemed to scuffle off, at least the thickness that left her throat told her that.

She let out a deep breath, as far as she could take it with all of Jarysh's weight pressing down on her.

Revan waited a long moment in the darkness of the cave, flicking on her spark-light to catch a bit of light. She looked up at Jarysh. "So… how far do those tattoos go?"

He wrinkled his brow, causing the long tattoo under his right eye to shift. "You are strange."

"And you're still on top of me. Are we planning to stay here all day?" Revan squirmed slightly.

Jarysh started to climb over her and got his crotch disarmingly close to her face in the process. She couldn't exactly turn around, but pulled herself as far as she could before he hooked his hands under her shoulders and pulled her the rest of the way out. The light and space was overwhelming and she had to wince for a moment. "Let's not do that again."

Jarysh nodded and rubbed his neck. "This flock is migrating faster than I expected, I am sorry."

Revan crawled onto her knees, rubbing her shoulders. "Don't worry about it. Though we should probably head back to your planet before the ship gets discovered." She let out a breath. "This has been… informative."

Jarysh lifted himself up and held out his hand to her. Revan took it and he pulled her up easily. "To my stomach," he commented as they headed out of the caves to where their outdated shuttle was stashed.

"What?" Revan brushed the dust and dirt off her Qel-Droma robes.

"My tattoos." He trailed a pattern over his shirt. "They go to my stomach."

"Oh…" Revan nodded, dumbly. "Well, too bad they don't glow in the dark."

Jarysh wrinkled his brow again. "You _are_ strange."

Revan gave him half a grin and stopped. She could feel something bubbling within her. A deaf, dumb, mute Sith'ari was powerful, an overwhelming sense of power. But hell, so was she. "I changed my mind. Instead of going back to the ship," she slipped her hands to her lightsabers. "Let's find out how to kill it."

Jarysh stared at her for a long moment. "That would be… informative."

She flashed him another smile. The natives here were so friendly and eager to learn.

* * *

Revan Talke - Now 

Revan took steady strides off the loading ramp, each step feeling better than the first as the familiar humid air hit her lungs. Her face lit up in a grin as she saw Canderous decked out in full Mandalore armor. It looked _really_ right on him. "Canderous," she beamed , moving faster with her plan to promptly tackle the metal incased Mandalorian. It felt wonderful, seeing him again, feeling his presence… feeling more than his presence.

And the camp on Dxun looked better than it had been when she'd come here during the wars and drove the Mandalorians off. It was a good starting place and she respected Canderous' choice in making this his first stop. She remembered when that wouldn't have crossed her mind, when wiping out all the Mandalorians was all that she cared about, but now it was the lesser of two evils was and she felt a kinship with the Mandalorians that were left. They were warriors who traveled the galaxy, lost from their previous identities and forced to forge new ones. Just like her. That was kinship.

Her heavy footsteps on the loading ramp stopped suddenly and Revan jerked her head to the side as a very familiar feeling washed over her. "Mother phoqer." One of the new crew slammed into her back, sending her forward slightly. Revan turned to glare him down, but the tall blonde was already shuffling things in front of himself and muttering apologies. Revan stepped off the ramp and walked past Canderous narrowing her vision at the very well put together camp around them. She would take time to appreciate it later.

She lifted her finger, ignoring both the mutterings around her and the patient, but obviously annoyed Canderous to her right, and brought her finger slowly around until it rested to a far corner of the camp. "I've been here three seconds!" she protested loudly in the direction she pointed.

"So have I!" the familiar presence shouted across the camp as she came forward, brushing off her robes and stepping awkwardly over Mandalorian equipment. "Life is not all about you, Revan." Bastila Shan said haughtily as ever as she came close enough to say it at a normal tone. "I might have come here for a practical check up on how our Mandalorian friend was doing."

Canderous cleared his throat beside them. "I doubt that, Shan."

Both women glanced to look at him, as the rest of the crew tumbled out of the ship slowly behind them. Revan couldn't stop herself from bouncing a little on her toes. "You look so—so--- like the Mandalore." She couldn't stop grinning. Pride and other feelings jumbled up inside of her, like they had been waiting for five years for this moment.

"I _am_ the Mandalore," Canderous said bluntly.

"How lovely for you," Bastila said drolly, brushing her robes off and straightening her longer hair. She stared directly at Revan, an unspoken annoyance, relief, and confusion at seeing her again. Revan felt the same. She flashed her bondmate a smile. It was weakly returned.

"Um, excuse me?" The pilot cleared his throat as the crew hedged forward, from the cluster of crew on the docking ramp. "Am I missing something here?"

"Lots of somethings," the redhead with a midriff quipped from behind him, she and the rest of the crew not seeming to want to step foot on the grass.

The pilot Atton Rand, (as he was going by now Revan noted), glared at the redhead and turned back towards them. "Yeah this _reunion_ or whatever is cute and all, but don't we have more pressing matters to—" his head snapped back, roaming over the cluster of Mandalorians, in and out of armor. "What? There weren't _female _Mandalorians here before. I would have noticed!"

A decidedly female Mandalorian raised one blonde eyebrow, a young boy at her armored heel. She held a blue helmet in her hand. "We've met already, Republic."

"Hey don't call me—" Atton closed his mouth suddenly, his eyes roving over her form. "Okay that armor isn't fair."

"Mandalorians are never fair," a crisp voice from the top of the docking ramp said, clearly.

Revan turned her head slowly. Jene Wynn looked older; more tired, and yet still had the face of the same scared little girl that had gone to the Mandalorian wars with her years ago. Maybe she was just bitter and jaded now. Nothing Revan hadn't expected. But what she hadn't expected was the nagging feeling in the back of her neck as the blonde woman walked down the ramp.

"Revan," Jene said with a slight inclination of her head, her gaze intense and so incredibly familiar.

"Gi," Revan responded back, crossing her arms across her chest. "Enjoy the ship?"

Jene glanced at her strangely and walked off the ramp, away from the rest of her crew and towards one of the bunkers. Revan shook her head, ignoring whatever Jene was up to. She eyed Bastila and Canderous carefully. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Bastila said, putting her hands on her hips.

"What did I miss?"

Bastila gave her an annoyed groan, and Revan ignored her going over to Canderous who was looking her over carefully. He gave his report like a solider falling into line. "I've put together the best of the clans and we find more everyday. Dxun has been our base of operations for a few years and I plan on expanding after we get rid of the Sith annoyance. It's good practice for the children."

Revan made an affirming noise and grinned broadly as she and Canderous went back and forth, in and out of Mandalorian, about what exactly he had done over the years. Most of it included finding parts of his, and other, clans and bringing them together on Dxun. He'd brought the dregs and the degenerates together to form a tightly bound group of Mandalorians.

Revan felt little tickles in her stomach as they talked, something close to pride. She followed him to a more comfortable position at the edge of the camp, surrounded by trees and metal bunkers.

Bastila waited impatiently by them as they went on for at least another hour.

Revan couldn't get the giant grin off her face. She had missed both of them, more than she ever wanted to admit. She kicked her legs on the hard flat rock she was on and glanced up at her bond-partner. "Well… what did I miss on your side? Tea parties and Jedi regalia?"

Bastila's lips thinned. "You missed the steady decline and destruction of the Jedi Order."

Revan opened her mouth and, "Again?" was out of it before she could stop it. She clamped her mouth tightly and gave her a weary smile. "Feel like some more specifics before I start saying it wasn't my fault?"

Bastila's specifics were a bit too close to the type of catching up she didn't want to do. Canderous added a few side notes whenever possible, which left Revan biting her tongue from laughing at inopportune moments.

"Seems like Jene's been busy while I've been out," Revan tapped her fingers against her leg and shot another glance to the woman at the edge of the camp. Her cheek itched. So she scratched it.

This was not at all what she had been hoping for. They weren't supposed to follow her, she was dead. At least that was the plan, but if this had been happening for this long then they hadn't been following her – they were here first.

Frack.

Bastila lifted her chin a bit and gave Revan a look that she knew what she was thinking. Hell, maybe she did. "Did you eradicate the threat you ran off to fight?"

Revan shrugged and lifted herself up, brushing off her pants. "Nope, I got bored and decided to come back."

"You got bored—" Bastila's voice squeaked in indignation in a way that Revan had really missed.

"Yeah." Revan shrugged again, she glanced at Canderous. "So Ordo, what do you feed this army of yours? Got any to share?"

After a while, Revan sat at a large spit with the rest of the Mandalorians, eating without caution. It wasn't really too much different than the food she'd had on Oulia, but it was a heck of a lot more comfortable eating with Mandalorians, Bastila Shan, and some rag tag crew her old General had gotten together, than it was light-years away from well… a stupid Mandalorian and an uptight Jedi.

She smiled and bit down into her Rahk. She missed them.

Later, when the lights of the fires were all but out and the light of dawn was steadily approaching, Revan lifted herself away from the company of old friends to go find the company of older ones. It had taken her longer than she would have suspected it would to figure it out, but probably still a shorter amount of time than _Jene_ would have suspected. Revan's footsteps made muffled noises in the grass as she approached the blonde.

"How long?"

Clear blue eyes matched her own. "Excuse me?"

Revan rested her hand on her cocked hip. "Yeah. Let's cut the bantha crap shall we? I want to know how long you've been faking me out."

Lashes over blue eyes fluttered. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't know you'd be coming back so soon, Revan."

Fair enough, neither had Revan until she'd decided it, blown up a ship that she was supposed to be in and high-tailed it back to normal space as soon as she could. She frowned and tapped her fingers against her hip. "I couldn't identify them before. I can now, you're a lot more closed off than your old friends back home, but I can still catch it." She glared. "How long? While you were training me? On Malachor? During the Mandalorian Wars?"

Blue eyes narrowed. "Revan… did you drink too much?"

Revan frowned, "I thought I said cut the bantha crap." She shifted her weight to her other leg. "I didn't recognize you on Malachor" she said in the ancient Sith language she had grown so used to speaking, "I do now. So give me some credit, _Jene_, and tell me when you turned into this thing."

The silence was deafening in the quiet of the dawn. But finally the blonde woman responded, "Your master became me many years ago. There was no trickery. She was just waiting for me to come along and give her life."

Revan gave a curt nod. "Your kind doesn't live anymore, not by me," she said darkly and activated her lightsabers, their purple and red glow reflecting off the metal bunker behind them.

The blonde woman activated hers in response and let a slow sick smile cross over her face. "Are you willing to see if the Master has surpassed the student?"

"Oh, I already know."

Three steps on the tall jungle grass.

"Hey!" One of the crew called from back near the middle of the camp. "What are you two doing?"

"Cleaning up," Revan muttered. She gritted her teeth as she advanced.

"I knew it, she's mynock crazy!" another one of the crew said. "That redeemed drell was all fake."

Revan ignored them as she and Jene exchanged blows. She pushed what had been the General back towards the camp, pressing forward, her reflexives with and without the Force finely tuned from four years of practice. But in a matter of moments, other sabers joined the fight and pushed her back a bit. Revan could have killed them all, but it would be such a bad start to her return to this side of the galaxy. "That's not Jene, dumbasses," she snapped at them instead. Loyalty was great, except when it got in the way.

Loyalty was big, tall and blonde standing in the forefront, his blue lightsaber blazing for all the world to see that he hadn't had that much practice using it. Mical obviously had some soldier's training maybe, but nothing too extensive. Revan let out a little laugh. "Really. _You're_ going to fight _me_?"

"We all are, if you don't get away from the Exile," said the redhead trying to sneak up behind them. She was soon followed by Bao-Dur, the Zabrak who had built the plans for the Mass Shadow Generator and the man now going by the name Atton Rand.

Oh, Jene had been busy while Revan was gone. Very busy.

"That's not the—" Exile was what they had been calling her. It was hard to keep track all the things she'd learned about her old friend from the time she had been away. "That's not Jene." Revan turned back towards the blonde and let her lightsabers sweep down in a swift arc and felt herself fly back from a fairly strong Force push. She lifted herself to her feet immediately afterwards and glared at the tall blonde. "Look, you idiots. Stop getting in my way, you don't know what will happen if that _thing_ is allowed to stay around!" And from the sound of things, this was just the first of many Revan was going to have to put out of their misery. She had really wanted a better vacation this time.

But kidnapping Carth to Zeltros was going to have to wait.

"Thing?" The blonde woman scoffed.

"Revan?" Bastila said cautiously as she stepped by her side. Canderous was near; she could feel his presence almost like she could feel Bastila's: wary, but supportive in anything she wanted to do. She had earned that trust. What had Jene done to get these swoop jocks on her side this bad? Revan frowned and decided she didn't care.

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to elaborate about the big baddies I was fighting, Bast." Revan swept her sabers in an arc, keeping an eye on the blonde. "But here's the quick and easy version. Sith down in the ass-end of the galaxy are called Sith'ari. They like to do things like take over bodies, preferably ones that are freshly devoid of the Force. But Gigi here, oh well she's a special one. See, she didn't wait till my old Master was out, did you?"

The blonde woman just raised her eyebrow slightly. It was answer enough. The muddling that had left Revan off guard was more than just the Sith illusion she was projecting.

"So the Exile is a Sith?" Bastila had her hand on her double staff, just moments from activating it.

Canderous snorted, behind them.

Revan shrugged. "Hell if I know, but that," she pointed her saber at the blonde woman, "sure as hell is." She narrowed her vision. "Aren't you, Traya?"

"Woah, wait _what_?" Atton Rand took a visible step back.

The woman growled at her and wrapped her fingers tightly around her saber. "Always the clever one, Revan, but it matters not. The real Jene is alive and if you kill me she dies."

Revan nodded, patronizingly, "That's great for you… in the theory of me actually caring."

Mical had a look of dawning comprehension. "You… you're Kreia?"

Unlike the holovision episodes of the Exar Kun wars, there wasn't a puff of black smoke and suddenly the evil Sith trickery was made clear, (like those wonder twins Ulic had been boffing), there was just a sudden click when all the careful manipulation of the Force was dropped and people were allowed to really see. The lithe blonde woman was now replaced by an older woman with her face covered by a hood.

Atton Rand made a choking noise. "Oh, fracking—how long have you been like that?" His face had gone incredibly pale.

The rest of the crew was slowly advancing on her.

Traya (as she had called herself the last time they spoke) raised a withered hand, the aura around her was as strong as ever, but Revan could sense a heavy weakening in the old woman, possibly from the incredibly powerful illusion she had set in place. "It matters not. I am still bonded to the Exile and if you kill me, she dies."

Revan snorted and pushed past the amateurs, "Once again, what makes you think I c-" Revan had to skip back a step as three of the crew, minus the pilot, stepped in front of the old woman. She raised her eyebrows.

"We have to find the General," the Zabrak said, his voice tight.

"We can't have you hurt her." Blondie's eyes were blazing as he held his lightsaber tightly.

Revan stamped her feet and was about to shove them all aside when Bastila, lightsaber activated stepped beside her. Canderous was there on her other side at the same moment. "You will step away from Revan, now." He said, his voice booming through the tinny vocoder in his helmet.

"No," Atton Rand said joining the rest of them, an orange lightsaber glowing almost red in the rising sun.

The rest of the crew looked surprised. Revan decided she didn't have time or patience for this idiocy and lifted her hand to fling them back, when she saw the older woman making a run for the ship. At that point, Revan did fling them aside as they tried to block her path to the ship and sprinted towards the old woman. Suddenlly, she felt her feet trip up, as three of the idiotic crew had apparently tried to Force push and pull her at once.

With a burst of energy she sped up her pace to match Traya's. She met her on the _Ebon Hawk's _ramp. Revan pulled back her elbow towards one of the stupid crew that had tried to stop her and it made a sickening crack into the pretty face, and then she was almost tripped up again by a quick leg movement that she was too distracted to keep at bay. "Keep them busy!" Revan growled as an order to whoever would listen, as she got herself steady again and growled as she saw that the ramp had shut.

"Frack!" she ground out, pissed that she was going to have to can-open the ship. She pushed her sabers into a slow arc and had to dive out of the way as the blaster cannon on the bottom of the Ebon Hawk (that was sure fracking new) almost shot her in the chest. She rolled over onto the grass and lifted herself to her feet. The ship was already taking off and the force of the engines pushed her back again. Revan had to throw up a protective Force shield to keep the heat from melting her skin.

As she watched, the ship took off and broke atmosphere. After a moment, every swear word Revan had recently learned left her mouth. "That did not just happen!" She let her sabers fall to her sides. "That fracking bitch did not just take off on my fracking ship!" She angrily stamped her feet on the grass, flattening the surrounding area and screaming out a few choice curses directed specifically at her old teacher.

When the ship was out of her vision and she was out of swear words, Revan spun around with a growl and advanced at the idiotic crew that had impeded her. "You stupid–" her swearing sank into a tight hiss as she pulled her sabers out at them threateningly. None of them had a defense stance worth gaudo.

"Revan," Bastila gave stepped directly in front of her path, blocking her with a steady hand. "We have to get the ship back. And if one of your Sith'ari is here then we need to warn the Republic and what's left of the Jedi."

Revan tightened her teeth and glowered. "We need to rip these stupid idiots limb from limb is what we need to do," she snapped, intending to do just that, as she glared each one of them down and tried to decide the order.

_Revan_, Bastila said in her head, the thought obtrusive and unfamiliar in the years they had been apart. _Calm yourself, anger is the path to the darkside_.

Revan let out a dry snort at the incredibly familiarity of _that_ thought and then a sharp laugh. "Force, you haven't changed."

Bastila gave her a weak, but genuine smile and placed a light hand one of Revan's, deactivating her lightsaber in the process. Revan let her, coiling in the anger at the crew for the moment. Besides, a few of the Mandalorians seemed to be packing them into a corner that they were not experienced to get out of. Bastila, as if sensing her thoughts (she probably had), gave her a look and pressed the switch on Revan's other lightsaber.

Revan let out a tight sigh. "Canderous stop attacking… I guess."

The crew let out a little sigh of relief, almost all at the same time, as they dropped their out of defensive stances.. "She could be anywhere," the blonde solider said mournfully.

Revan glared at him. "And whose fault is that?"

Atton Rand, seemingly unphased by either the Mandalorian attack or the fact that Revan had almost cut his head off, frowned thoughtfully. "If that wasn't Jene, then where the hell is she?"

The tall blonde man set his jaw straight. "That is a good question."

Revan had to agree with him, because wherever Jene was… "Jene's wherever Traya is going." She frowned and spun around turning to Canderous, who had his arms crossed over his chest. "We need a ship. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

Jene Wynn – 10 Years Earlier

Jene took a shuddering breath and wrapped her fingers around her glass. Maybe if the hard shot of Taanabian ale washed out her brain she could stop replaying the Council's decision and everything that had led up to it, over and over and over and over again. She had never thought it was going to go well, but she hadn't expected this either.

"Nisotsa had the right idea," she murmured to her glass as she brought it to her lips again, letting the brown liquid slosh against them. "Remove yourself before someone can do it for you."

"That kind of day?" The big man at the bar stool next to her nodded towards her drink.

She glanced at him blearily. "That kind of lifetime."

"Tyler Choi," he said holding out his hand.

Jene just stared at it. The hand was covered in what was either dirt or engine oil, she glanced up at him, he wasn't bad looking and seemed friendly enough. She took his hand. "Jene Wynn."

"Wynn?" He raised dark eyebrows. "I know a Jven Wynn, do you know him?"

Jene traced her finger around the rim of her glass. "Is he from Onderon?"

Tyler grinned, "Yeah. He is."

"No." She tipped back her drink and set it down, waving her hand to the bartender for another one. For a moment she felt like she could wave her hand and call a bottle to her, but she couldn't and the void in her stomach pressed against her tightly and she took a choked breath. "Wynn is the name they assign bastards on Onderon," Jene said casually. "So I don't know him."

"Oh." Tyler nodded to himself as the bartender came back over and refilled her glass. "I feel like I should be writing this stuff down."

Jene let out a deprecating snort and tried not to choke back her drink. She wondered if she could just drink enough to spill on the floor and go unconscious for a few days. She had tried that a few times and it had worked out wonderfully, passing time without having to worry about thinking or feeling anything or the lack of thought and feeling. She was handling this exile thing better than she had expected.

Well the real test would be when she ran out of money and had to get a real job. She slammed back the rest of her ale and put the glass on the counter, waving over another one. "What do you do, Tyler Choi?" She tested each syllable against the tips of her teeth when she said his name as she narrowed her vision while the brown liquid poured back into her glass.

"I handle the relay systems outside," he gave her a smile and rubbed his nose. "Basically I do space walks to check on things outside the ship. Droid work."

Droids. Xaere used to handle droids before a Mandalorian cut up his insides and he died a slow painful death. Jene blinked back the memory and drowned it with alcohol.

"What do… uh, you do?" Tyler said carefully, eyeing the amount of alcohol she was consuming.

It never seemed to be enough. Jene rubbed her thumb on the corner of her mouth and then sucked the stray ale off it. She took a deep breath. "I drink and frack various men. That takes up most of my day. The rest of it is devoted to dreamless sleep. I'm thinking of adding some office work."

"That's uh…" Dark eyebrows raised and he cleared his throat, "Sounds like a rewarding career field. Are you—" He gestured to her drink. "Are you sure you're okay. Maybe you need a walk back to your room or…?"

"Or what?" Jene eyed him carefully and finished off the rest of her glass, a heavy buzz was wearing away the rest of her senses. They weren't the ones she wanted, weren't the ones that mattered. She couldn't feel anything anyway. "I'm a big girl; I can lace up my boots and everything. So if you want to go to your room or the hole I'm staying at we can go frack. Or you can leave the bar stool for someone who's up to it."

Dark eyebrows raised all the way up his head and dark eyes widened. "Uh…" He set down his own glass on the counter. "I have a girlfriend," he said carefully, as if it made up for him scrambling to put credits on the counter before leaving quickly.

Jene glanced at the empty seat and her eyes wandered to the tall, stupid-looking man that had been sitting next to him. "Hey."

"Hey," he said back lifting his drink.

He didn't remind her of anyone. She was done with that game, it only left a bitter taste in her mouth in the morning and she fulfilled that need with the hangovers. "You wanna frack?"

The tall man finished off his drink and shrugged. "Sure."

* * *

Jene Wynn - Now

"_Know that much may happen here, but above all, do not forget this… you may trust in me. We cradle each other's lives, and what threatens one of us threatens us both. And if you cannot trust me, trust in your training, trust in yourself. Never doubt what you have done, all your decisions have brought you to this point." Kreia's voice was soft and comforting, and, if Jene concentrated, a little scared._

And then she had walked to her death. Again.

Jene's hair tickled her forehead as her chin banged against her chest. The restraints were uncomfortable, but they were a blessing in a way. As long as they were on she didn't have to find out if that Council of Condemnation had succeeded. If she had really lost all that she had gained.

All that she had stolen.

_Vrook scoffed, "Yes… you can feel the Force again but you cannot feel yourself." She ignored the truth to his words, "You are a cipher, forming bonds, leeching the life of others, siphoning their will and dominating them."_

A headache peppered the edges of her vision and it hurt too much to think about what had happened to her crew. Mira, Mical, Visas, Bao-Dur, Atton… all of them had been so fiercely loyal, when she had never done anything but keep them at arm's length. She'd kept herself at arm's length, so that nothing could get through. Nothing could hurt her again. And yet everything did anyway. She formed bonds. Formed connections. Acting like this wound that tried to take in everything around her.

She was doing something. Her trying to put the ways right and be that good, pious Jedi again had done nothing for Zez-Kai Ell, Vrook… Kavar. All they had done was sentence her to what she had lived with in her exile for ten years. Tried to rip the Force from around her. They tried to make that numbness, that complete silence around her come back.

She was glad they were dead.

And that made her choke a little, sob and sniffle and bang her chin harder against her chest as the disruptor collar clanked against her. After all the betrayals, it still ached. It ached so deeply she knew it wasn't just the exhaustion that was making her unable to lift her head.

She had convinced herself that she was saving the galaxy. That she was finding out what really happened to her. That she was being a Jedi. She had lied to herself, so she could not have expected Kreia to do any differently. If anything the woman protected her, but she also brought her to her condemnation, wanted her to confront it.

Confronting had never been Jene's thing, not that she was sure who she was anymore. If she was a her or if she was a thing. A thing that just sat in a chair, tied with some kind of plastasteel brace and blocked out from any feeling of the Force.

Or the pretense that she still had it. That she ever really had it back, that she hadn't made the wound so deep and cauterized it so fully that she would ever be able to get it back.

Three Masters dead and her dragged by her feet by a bunch of Echani back to where she had started. Back to where she had been stupid enough to think that this was the beginning of some epic journey where she was the hero of the tale. That she could be the equal, the stronger, and the better than Revan the Redeemed. That they would write songs about her. That she could finally, finally come home.

"_It is not the strength of a Jedi you feel."_

_There was pity in Zez-Kai Ell's tone, "He's right. It's… all the death you've caused to get here. You feed on it, and you grow stronger. You're like Malachor… it's in you; it's what you are now."_

She wanted to feel relieved that they were gone. She wanted there to be no vestiges of that good little Jedi on Coruscant left. She wanted all that she had done in exile to stick. She wanted to just embody what everyone had always expected.

She wanted to be happy that they were dead. Enjoy the carnage and the finality of it. Enjoy that her burden, that he was finally gone.

Jene didn't have to think of the dead. No one had to think of the dead. They were dead, one with the Force. There was nothing after that. Nothing.

Wanting with all the passion she could muster would not help her. Nothing could. The nothingness inside her could boil up and just take over. She could float away to that part of the Force where there were no sensations or emotions, where the attempt at blocking everything out would not just be a fantasy derived by a lonely little girl on the outer rim.

She could be free.

But not if she couldn't feel the Force. If she had been, if they had—if it was all gone again, she would be stuck in this hell forever. With her chin on her chest.

Still dredging up old memories and breathing. Ever breathing.

"You're awake." Atris' voice was condescending, with every inch of the woman she had been the day Jene had been exiled.

It gave Jene a little bit of strength, but not enough to lift her head.

"My handmaidens have done well in this regard. Perhaps my brother's wandering loins did some good after all. All these daughters, blind from the Force… they're like you in a way, but without the imperfections of your past." The white-haired woman tsked against the roof of her mouth. "It's a shame it had to turn out this way, Exile, but you were always stubborn and set in your ways."

"You mean not your way," Jene managed, but her throat was raspy. Choking against the collar for however long she had been in this cold dark room had not helped.

"My way is the right way," Atris said darkly, stepping forward and lifting Jene's chin in her hand so that she could see her face. "You should have listened to me."

"Would I be the right hand to the next Sith Lord if I did?" Jene tried to hiss to cover the fact that she had to whisper, "Or the left?"

The way Atris' face twisted made her look very ugly, she leaned in closer. "Traya is not a Sith Lord, you know nothing. The knowledge that was left to me is immeasurable. I am saving the galaxy, from_you_."

Jene met blue eyes with her own. "Does that help you sleep at night?"

Atris dropped her chin so sharply that it cracked loudly into her collarbone. "I sleep with no illusions of who I am, Exile. Of what I have done to and for the galaxy and the good of the Force. I-I…" the waver in her voice was so slight but there was no mistaking it, "I know far better than some little girl who ran off after glory and carnage only to become it."

Because Jene was the monster everyone was afraid of. So afraid of they didn't care that the monster was afraid too. So afraid that they shut her out, drove her off, lied to her… again. So afraid that they wrapped themselves in this everlasting denial that made them believe they hadn't become monsters too.

"I hate you," Jene said, her voice barely audible.

She could tell by the way Atris stiffened that she had heard her.

She did hate her. For everything that she had become and for everything that she was. For giving her the thoughts of a home to come back to, twice. For teaching her the lies of forgiveness and redemption. For exiling her into an endless current of one night stands, booze, and stims she couldn't name.

"We finally agree on something then," Atris said quietly, as if she was mirroring Jene's voice. It was only momentary before her voice was snide again. "Traya will come back soon, after she has finished her business on Malachor."

Jene was like Malachor. That was what Zez-Kai Ell had said. Before he had tried to cut out a part of her soul. Before he had died.

Atris continued, turning around, her footsteps echoed on the floor in cadence with her voice as she walked away. "Then she will come for you. And all the horrors you could have inflicted will be stopped. And the ones you did will be avenged."

"_It is a punishment reserved for only a few – and only when necessary, but we have the power to cut you off from the Force, and it must be done."_

_She looked at him in disbelief, a punishment? She had come back for judgment and they had spurned her. She had spent five years in exile, losing every part of herself. She had come back when they needed her. She had fought their threats. She had come to their aid. She had brought peace to entire worlds. She had traveled in the light._

"_Forgive us… but it is necessary." Those were the words that allowed a choked sob to leave her throat. Those coward's words. Once again, Kavar was hiding in the Council, abandoning everything._

Jene was crying again. It seemed she couldn't stop herself. Not that she ever had any control of it.

After a while her head was lifted back again, the sore strip of skin on her neck chaffed against the collar painfully. She stared up blearily at another one of Atris' handmaidens. This one looked much different than the others, same style clothes but her face bore no resemblance to Atris. She tipped Jene's head back more and poured a hot liquid down her throat. It didn't burn, but it was hard to swallow.

This was the only that came in to feed her.

Maybe the others thought Atris would want her to starve. Maybe she did.

Jene's head flopped back to her chest when she was done swallowing.

"Mn," the Handmaiden said softly and tilted her head. "I found you a head rest, Exile. It can't be comfortable sitting like that." She pushed Jene's head back again, and this time she landed on a soft, stable surface.

And she could see the entirety of the dark, icy hall, descending into nothingness behind the Handmaiden.

She felt like she was better off navel gazing.

But all Jene said was, "Thank you," or she mouthed it. Her throat was wet, but it still felt tight.

The Handmaiden brushed away the tears on her cheek with her thumb and gave her a sad smile before turning around.

"Wait—" Jene choked out.

The Handmaiden turned around. "Yes?"

"Did they— did you I mean," Jene blinked back the ebbing tears of frustration more than anything else, "Did they bury him—them?"

The Handmaiden gave her a sad, soft little look and shook her head before turning around walking away.

Jene allowed her self one more sniff before she decided that the tears would stop. They weren't doing her any good here anyway, just freezing to her cheeks in the unforgiving cold of a undead planet.

* * *

Carth Onasi – 3 Years Earlier

Carth closed his eyes and took a deep calming breath. Stress management Lieutenant Vetros called it. He counted something, but it wasn't to ten. It had been one year, four months, three days, and twenty hours since Revan had left the station.

And he wasn't getting any better without her.

"So explain it to me…" Carth said carefully, his eyes opening, "slowly."

His son, who was leaning casually to try and hide his dislocated shoulder, wasn't the one who answered. The other _Jedi_was. Kel Algwinn, a small meek thing that they had met on Korriban. "Uh… well we were um…"

"It's no big deal," Dustil interrupted, his face was dirty from either oil or dried blood.

"It's no big—" Carth's voice choked. "You two were trying to kill each other in the promenade. In Jedi robes!" He raked a hand over his chin, trying to keep his hands from doing anything else, like shaking his son until he was lifeless. "How do you think that looks? You're supposed to be Jedi!"

"Yeah…" Dustil shrugged his good shoulder. "Supposed to be."

Carth let out an annoyed, frustrated breath from his nostrils. "Dustil—I thought you two were friends?"

"We are," Kel said, his eyes widening and then the boy winced, probably from the large bruise that was forming around them.

Carth rung his hands in his jacket. Anything to keep from strangling them. He let out another breath, pretending he could calm himself down. "You should go to the medbay." Maybe it would give him time to think about this conversation, about how to not make his head explode from it.

Dustil just popped his shoulder back into place with one hand and no facial reaction. "I'll live."

Not if Carth killed him. Carth bit back on the thought and tried to remind himself of how grateful he was that his son was alive, that they had this time on Telos. That he was right in front of him and Carth was able to want to strangle him. The alternative was so much worse.

"If it's any consolation, sir," Kel said, rubbing his steadily blackening eyes, "We didn't mean to fight in the promenade. We were looking for a sparring area, but—"

"But what?" Carth said, hoping there was something, anything to explain this ridiculous behavior.

"I got impatient," Dustil lifted his chin up a little, "And Kel's face just look too ripe not to hit."

Carth had to make sure he kept breathing. Had to remember he loved his son. The last month had made it even harder than usual to remember that. "Maybe it's best if you don't go to the ceremony tonight." It was the closest thing to grounding he could get away with. Push too hard, Dustil might leave. Sometimes he looked so young and Carth just wanted to keep it that way and sometimes he looked like his own man and could leave Carth at any moment.

"Break my heart," Dustil muttered and put his hands in his pockets. Jedi pockets, the hands covered in someone else's blood were shoved in Jedi pockets.

"I thought you wanted to go," Carth let out another annoyed breath through his nostrils and shook his head. "You need to talk to me in longer sentences with less grumbling. I can't—" keep him from doing stupid things. Keep from leaving. Keep him from beating up one of his friends in the middle of a very public area, while they were both in robes. "I can't help you, if you don't talk to me."

"Maybe I don't want your help. Or need it," Dustil shook his head. "Whatever, this the part where you act like a father and send me to my room?"

Only if it was padded and soundproof. "Dustil."

Carth watched as his son shrugged him off and walked off towards the room that Carth had put aside for him. It was easier when it was just visiting from Coruscant, when they didn't have time to argue. When Revan was here to make a joke and diffuse things, or at least make Dustil leave when he was angry. Of course maybe that was most of the problem.

Carth had to remind himself that he wanted the anger as long as it came with a living, breathing son. He shook his head and turned towards Kel, raising his eyebrows.

"It won't cheer you up, if I say I'm the nice one of group, will it?" Kel made an awkward attempt at a smile.

"Sadly I suspected that," Carth pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's kolto in the refresher," Carth pointed in that direction and Kel followed his finger.

He took a breath and counted again. It had been one year, four months, three days, and twenty-one hours since Revan had left the station.

And if he blamed everything on that it made it so much easier to deal with.

* * *

Carth Onasi – Now

He'd glanced a the files in his hand, six times each, but nothing was sticking. Maybe it was just the action of pretending he was working that made Carth feel useful, that made him at least think he wasn't obsessing about the fact that the _Ebon Hawk_ had landed on Telos again and he was hoping a dark-haired woman would step off of it. It had only been two weeks since the Ravager almost destroyed Telos—again and Carth was putting too much faith on the fact that it hadn't.

That maybe the rest of his life would come back together again.

He glanced at the datapad that was in his hand, his fingers brushing the edges. It was the official death tally of the Jedi on Katarr that had taken far too long to scrounge up and he still wasn't sure it was accurate. He had scanned it enough to check on names he actually cared about. Since he'd seen Dustil two hours ago and Bastila last week, there were only two names that he needed to check on. One was missing from the count. One wasn't.

Carth's lips thinned as he stared at the name again. He couldn't have imagined their journey to the Star Forge without all the Jedi on the ship and the fact that one of them was now dead, just a name on a list, was a little too hard to wrap his mind around.

He put the datapad down and rested his head in his hands.

There was a knock on the door. Carth lifted his head and was about to tell whoever it was when the door cracked open.

"Hey," Dustil said pushing the door open with no reserve. "Can I borrow a shirt, I haven't done the laundry yet and –" he gave a sweeping gesture to his chest that was covered in engine oil and smirked.

Carth nodded and Dustil headed over towards his bedroom, returning with a crisp shirt. "You might want to take a shower first, Dustil. Or wash your face."

Dustil wiped a hand over his face and came back with more engine oil. "Oh." He put the shirt down and went over toward the kitchen sink, dipping his head unceremoniously in the running water and scrubbing. He came back up, flicking water all over the kitchen. Not that it did much to the state of it, and to be fair Dustil was usually the one that cleaned it. "No time," He grabbed a hand towel and rubbed his hair. "Gracie got flooded with some swoops that broke down on the track yesterday and Kai's off planet, so I had to pull a double shift. And now I'm late," he rubbed his face with the towel and dropped it before changing out his shirts.

Sometimes Carth could look at him and pretend that these past few years had been easy. That Dustil hadn't lived through Telos' destruction just to join the Sith, then the Jedi, and then have to pretend to be a normal kid to hide from everyone that wanted to kill the Jedi. Sometimes Carth could look at him and Dustil wasn't pretending.

"Late for what?" Carth tried not to sound overly interested. They'd worked on the communication thing. And the Carth not poking his nose into every aspect of Dustil's life, even though he wanted to.

"Going to that ceiling movie thing at the promenade," He buttoned up Carth's shirt and brushed out his hair at the same time. "They're setting up the holo to play on the ceiling and setting out blankets and stuff on the floor so everyone lies down and watches."

"Sounds like fun." It also sounded like a well needed distraction for the young Telosians on the station who were trying to ignore how close Telos came to destruction, again. "Going with Sorna?"

Dustil gave a snort that gave no indication if he was pleased or displeased with the fact, "Yeah. Mar and Duncan are coming with us too. I think Mar's bringing some of his class, so it'll probably be a kids movie," this time Dustil's snort was a little amused, "Not that I mind. I haven't seen one since—" He cleared his throat and brushed off his pants. "I invited Mission, but she whined about something and I got bored listening to her so I don't know what she's doing."

Neither did Carth, it worried him that he knew more about what his son who wasn't living in his module anymore, than the little blue Twi'lek that was supposedly living in the room next to his. "Probably didn't want to be called a kid, by going to the movie."

Dustil rolled his eyes and shrugged one shoulder, lifting up his dirty coveralls and shirt in his hand. "Mind if I throw this in your laundry basket, I'll probably do it tonight."

The fact that Dustil was doing Carth's laundry was left unsaid. He wished it felt more like he was assigning his son a chore, than the fact that his son had deemed him useless of taking care of himself. The moments where he felt like a pathetic bachelor were the worst.

"Do you need any credits?"

Dustil shook his head and laced up his boots. "Nah, I pulled three double shifts this week. If Sorna wants to go crazy I think I'm covered." His son stood in front of him, tucking in his shirt. "You gonna be okay?"

"Me and Mission will have a slumber party," Carth said, his lips twitching. "I'm fine, Dustil. Go have fun."

Dustil stared at him for a long moment and then nodded, before dropping off the dirty shirts in the box, Carth was using as a laundry basket. "Later." And then door shut just as easily as it had opened.

Carth stared at the door for a bit and then lifted himself up. He glanced at the kitchen, still in a state of disarray. Takeout boxes and dirty dishes were stacked all in places they shouldn't have been. He could either clean it up or go find where a brat of a blue Twi'lek had gotten herself off to.

Carth pushed the door open and went to find Mission.

* * *

Mira Tracyn – 3 Years Earlier

Quick crack of the back and she was focusing all of the target's attention on her chest. That was very good, that way he wouldn't notice the dart pack strapped to her arm. "Roland Vas?"

Big guy; wouldn't be too hard for her to take down. She'd taken down harder, but she was trying to get the least amount of property damage for this. It was kind of a thing this time. "A friend sent me."

He lifted one eyebrow. "What kind of friend," his smile went wide and stupid as he looked her up and down. "A very good friend, I assume."

"Kratar Hal."

That got big boy's attention right up to her face. "And what are you? An incentive?"

Mira shifted her hip to one side. "Uh-uh. I'm a backup, incase you decide running is your best approach."

Vas scrunched up his face so tight it looked like it was going to cave in on itself. "I doubt that's going to be a problem, little lady."

Mira flipped a couple of darts into her hand incase she had to do close range, stretched a little as she went so Vas really had to linger on her stomach muscles. "Mhmm, well Kratar _really_ would like consideration towards your recent payment, or he'd like you. I'm inclined to give him either, since well I get paid both ways. But it's up to you, space boy."

Vas' eyes took in every part of her and stuck like bad juma from a drunk's breath. "Mandalorian." It wasn't a question.

Mira shifted her hips. "Uh huh. And how is that going to help you?"

"Should have recognized the signs," Vas laughed, deep in his throat and leaned back in his chair. "You one of the cast-offs from the Wars or one of those poor little orphan slaves they took in?"

If Mira hadn't already sized this guy up she would have known just from that question that he wasn't a Mando. "You want to come out of this walking or quick talking?"

"Listen, I took down fracks bigger than you with Bendak Starkiller, so don't get on me about—" Vas made a satisfying gurgling noise as Mira popped the tranq in his throat.

It was a shame they always had to do it the hard way. "You just couldn't move your head from my cleavage." Mira tsked under her tongue. "Well, I'm asking for extra, because you look like a pain in the ass to carry."

Kratar Hal had better pay up.

* * *

Mira Tracyn - Now

"Hey," Mira's mouth twitched the same time her healed leg did, kicking the Zabrak mechanic in the shoe. "How's it going, BD?"

Bao-Dur shifted from where he was leaned up against the workbench and frowned in the general direction of all the goings on in the ship. "Erratic, since we left Telos."

"Yeah," Mira drawled it out and smirked, resting her hands on her hips. "But you're so much better for it, stopped on Nar and all that. Picked up the best things."

Bao-Dur's eye brow twitched slightly. "G0-T0 wasn't the best model, but he was interesting."

"Oh, you wound me." Mira hopped up onto the workbench and tried to see exactly what he was looking at. There were plenty of things to observe, from the Dark Lord All Mighty Destroyer to the new Mandalore and Bastila Shan herself. "Exciting action, huh?"

Bao-Dur frowned again. "I am sure that's one way to put it, Mira."

Mira stretched her legs out. "I tell you one thing. They don't make warbirds like this anymore. Old Mando'a ships. They're just—" Bao-Dur's face shifted so imperceptibly that all his markings seemed to cave in. Ah right. Mira changed strategies. "Did you know big bad Revan in the wars too?"

Bao-Dur shook his head. "Not directly. I dealt with the General and –" He trailed off and shook his head again. "I'm not quite sure why I couldn't see through Kreia's disguise."

Mira shrugged. "All this Force stuff's new to me too, and Jene didn't exactly give loving attention to each of her _students_ or whatever we are." Jene had hopped through like she was on spice, discovering Force in each of them and then letting it dry. Showing the warmth and openness of Nar Shaddaa – the life it brought, the life it was. Mira blinked. "Guess I can't wait till we get off the ship. Even if it is Telos. Go find the Exile and hop off to more great adventures."

Bao-Dur glanced at the pile on the workbench. Looked like extra parts scavenged from the Mandalorian Base Camp. Possible he was building a new Remote. Mira wasn't sure if that was like a replacing a puppy right after it died thing. Not that she'd ever had a puppy or a friendly robot friend. She was sure G0-T0 didn't count. "I'm not sure if these new adventures are going to be so great."

Mira smiled at him. "Sure they will. You just have to have faith." She stopped herself from letting out an old Mandalorian proverb, (well, that was the closest way in basic to call it). It'd been so long since she'd felt Mandalorian, but having the actual honest to goodness _Mandalore_ on the ship again almost felt like home. And she didn't want to admit it out loud.

"Faith, hm?" Bao-Dur didn't seem convinced, he glanced over to where Bastila Shan looked like she was nursing a strong headache and the former Dark Lord of the Sith was pulling her head back in a laugh.

"Think I'd look good in robes?" Mira said as soon as the thought dawned on her. She stretched herself out a little and patted her stomach. "I mean I know the Exile taught us that neat defensive stuff, but robes would be—" something like fitting in, having family, doing something other than Bounty work that weren't really getting her anywhere, "—cool. A good surprise for Jene when we find her anyway."

"If we find her," Bao-Dur sighed and brushed off his hands, finally turning from the ruckus. He glanced at Mira. "I fail to see why you're so cheery and optimistic about all this."

Mira shrugged. "Been in worse before. The way I see it, we're on a ship with lots of people and my antsy nervous energy is going to be put to good use kicking creepy old lady butt. Plus," she leaned conspiratorially towards him, "did you see the way Atton got all creeped out over the people on the ship, Revan especially. He looks constipated."

Bao-Dur managed a smile and shook his head. "That is mildly heartening, but I think he has good reason." He sighed. "I just hope the General is all right."

Mira nodded at him and patted his arm. She wasn't sure what she was going to say next, but thinking hadn't really been her most developed skill, it was all about acting on the fly – either way it didn't matter, because Mical came up through the other side of the ship.

"We're landing," he said somberly.

Mira threw her hands up. "What do you want us to do, Di? Buckle our safety belts?"

Mical gave her a withering look, though he only seemed to have half his heart in it, "Literally and figuratively, Mira." He glanced at the group still across the way, now focused on the view of the cockpit. "Literally and figuratively."


	4. Chapter 4

Mission Vao – 3 Years Earlier

Mission had always thought that there was some kind of cosmic connection between joygirls and Gamorreans, but she'd never known that upper class chuba-faced humans were also Gamorreans. It must've been on the holonet when she was in the sewers with Big Z.

Another set of giggles directed at her lunch table.

Mission grabbed up her spoon and scooped up some of the overpriced sawdust they were churning out. If that one with the straw hair would have just moved her head an inch she could have gotten a good enough angle to at least nail three of them.

She narrowed her eyes and tipped her t'chin in concentration.

"Don't do it."

Mission glared at the red tinged Zeltron that pulled out a seat next to her and slid in. "And why not?"

"You'll regret it, Blue," Xane said staring critically at her food before moving it aside and taking out a datapad from one of her extra classes. Mission still couldn't believe someone would go to this high priced piece of crap school voluntarily, let alone put in that much effort. The second her trial year was up she was hopping ship straight to Kashyyyk, or maybe track Revan down and shake her to death for leaving her here.

"I will not, Red and you know it."

Xane put a hand down on Mission's until she got the spoon away and put it back on her plate. "I'll regret it then. Just ignore them."

Mission kicked the chair across from her and shoved her feet onto it, leaning back and sinking into her seat. "Easier said than done. I think if they get a little higher pitched, maybe kath will be the only ones to hear their shrill giggles."

The Zeltron raised a dark eyebrow over pinkish skin and shook her head with a little smirk. "Sometimes I think you enjoy the challenge."

"Well," Mission shifted up a little and leaned her arms back on the back of the chair. "It's a heck of a lot more interesting than," she tipped her head to read Xane's datapad, "mechanical physics? Do they even teach that here?"

Xane shook her head. "No, but my tuition is coming up again and I need a second job. My brother's getting me one at a chop shop down by the midlevels, pays better than the one I have now."

"Geez," Mission shook her head. "You should just take my tuition and I'll skip out to the swoop rink with your brother."

"I think he'd like that too much," Xane said with a snort and then frowned.

It was weird to see a Zeltron frown. Or so Mission had heard. She hadn't really run into a lot of them on Taris, but when a species is considered the party animals of the galaxy she couldn't really blame them from steering clear from Taris.

Mission was about to ask her what was wrong when a couple of boys from their grade came by and leaned up against the table. "Hey there, Xane. What're you doing tonight?"

Xane frowned deeper and stared at her datapad.

"I think she's broken, Dkan," one of the other boys said elbowing his friend.

The choobie-faced womp rat glanced her way; Mission clenched her fist and waved it a little. She was subtle. She didn't hit him in the chin this time.

The main boy jerked back and smiled politely before dragging the others with him.

Xane dug around in her bag until she brought out that bag of crap she liked to carry. She took out the little powder puff and spread it over her face, lightning it up.

"You look stupid."

"Thanks," Xane said, dryly while she examined herself in a pocket mirror. "The more human I look the less they bother me."

"Try hitting them in the face that really gets them past their idea that every Twi'lek is a joygirl." Or if that didn't work the crotch kick sure did. Her blaster would have too if those damn school marms would stop being so good at searches. Lucky for her she could always sneak back into the lockbox and grab it if needed.

Xane gave her what could have constituted for a smile if it was coming out of a ronto's ass. "I just need to be under the radar. I can't cause trouble."

"And I can't cause enough!" Mission laughed, loudly enough so that the entire table of chuba bitches turned her way and curled their lips up like they really were half Gamorrean – Mission knew it.

Xane sighed and gave her food a critical stare before putting her datapad in her bag. "I'm going to go study at the library before my interview, you want to come?"

Mission laughed. "Good one."

Xane snorted and shook her head, hefting her sack over her shoulder and giving a wave before she went off in the other direction.

Mission gave the Gamorrean sisters a good long look before flipping some obscenities at them with her lekku. She was going to give this one more week, screw the entire year. Revan wasn't here to back up her promise anyway and Mission could always just cash in the tuition check for something normal like a flight to visit Bindo. His stories would be better than this. Maybe she'd fly to Telos and bother Carth; she could double up the whine and wheedle a free room. He was going to get promoted some time, had to be worth some pull.

Yeah. Telos sounded good. Should be lots of room for trouble there.

* * *

Mission Vao – Now

Mission sipped loudly from her straw. The smoothie almost didn't taste like refined protein supplements when they added the imitation fruit juice. She made the sip long and smooth and louder than she needed to. It was actually becoming harder to annoy Dustil and that felt like it was her slipping. And that just couldn't happen.

"Do you have to do that?" Dustil raked a hand through his hair and stared at his still full drink.

"Probably not?" Mission shrugged. She sucked off the remnants from her straw and grabbed for his drink. "Gonna drink that?"

Dustil waved her off with a sour look. She might have thought he was sweet if he stopped looking like he was constipated. She didn't even bother switching straws before digging in. Maybe there was something in the protein powder that was really addictive. Maybe it was because it was free. She'd never know.

"So what crawled up your ass and died today, Smiley?"

Dustil glared at her and leaned back in his chair. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Liar," Mission said between sips. She crinkled her nose and pressed her lekku against her temple. "Brain freeze."

"Thought you needed a brain for that," Dustil muttered.

"Geez, Dustil." Mission rubbed her t'chin in a different motion than her t'chun, oh yeah that helped. "Cranky much?"

"I'm not cranky," Dustil said crankily.

"Uh huh," Mission nodded, she brought her lekku down after a moment, realizing she probably looked like an idiot, "You don't sound it either." She stuck her finger against the rim of the glass and sucked fruity goodness off of it, glancing around. "Where's Sorna, isn't she slobbering over you at this point?"

Dustil glowered at her.

"She dumped you!" Mission said, much louder, and much higher pitched than she meant it.

"She did not—" Dustil jerked around like there was actually someone that could hear or something, "She didn't dump me. We broke up."

"So you dumped her?" Mission asked easily. It was already obvious he didn't. That was fine with Mission. She was completely tired of the stupid photohog that never knew what hair color to keep. Mission almost jumped her when she came in with what was practically matching Mission's skin tone.

"It was mutual," Dustil groused.

Sheesh he was grumpy. Mission tipped up her lekku and then smoothed them over with her hands; she didn't want to look too excited about it. That would be insensitive. "That's what the dumped person always says."

Dustil Onasi, prodigal son of Carth, owner of more grumpy in his left sideburn than Darth Malak's entire body, glared at her. "_Mission_."

"Why do you always think saying my name in that tone is going to do anything?" Mission tipped the rest of the drink back, getting a nice fruit smoothie mustache. She was about to lick it off when Dustil threw a napkin at her. "Thanks," she licked it off behind the napkin and wiped away the slobber with the rest.

"She got a job offer closer to the Rim to take holos for Capital News," Dustil sighed and shrugged. "I'm on Telos. What else was I supposed to do, tell her to stay?"

Of course not that would have meant Sorna might have _actually_ stayed. Mission snorted. "No. You should have run after her with open arms and begged her to take her with you. I would have loved the free space."

There was always that split second before Dustil made a face where Mission was afraid he wouldn't take the joke, or he'd find some kind of seriousness in it and her entire front would be lost. Once again it was all set right when wonderbrat rolled his eyes and snorted.

"There's nothing I could do, we split amicably. It just," he let out another breath and leaned his cheek on his fist, "kind of sucks."

Oh crap. He was going to be mopey. If he was mopey then she'd actually feel guilty about cracking on his _ex_. "You know I hear that celibacy thing is all the rage with in-hiding Jedi. You'd probably be doing the universe a favor anyway."

Dustil flicked his fingers and the glasses rolled out towards Mission, sending little bits of goopy fruit everywhere on her shirt. "Ew, gross! You're doing my laundry!"

"I don't know, I'd like to see you do it for once. Maybe you'd shrink it," his eyebrows lifted in that way that was obnoxiously verging on cute and more verging on her wanting to punch him in the face.

She could feel the red tones in her skin pulling the blush to her cheeks. She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her tongue out. "I can see why Sorna was in such a rush to leave."

Dustil glared and she was sure something he thought was devastating would come out of his lips, but instead his eyebrows sunk down towards his nose and he stared out at the promenade. Mission jerked her torso in that direction to see—

What looked like Revan running down the promenade and being followed by like the entirety of the TSF.

"Well," Mission hopped up to her feet, trying to brush off bits of smoothie from her shirt, "I bet Sorna wished she'd been here for a shot of_that_."

* * *

Bastila Shan – 6 Years Earlier

"Do not," Ariate Talke started putting her finger up, "say I told you so."

"I am a Jedi," Bastila said stuffily, ignoring the impulse as always to add _Revan_ to the end of every sentence. "I do not lower myself to useless diatribes to point out the obvious. Though I will say, I specifically said that Manaan was closer and –"

"See!" Ariate threw her arms up. "That's I told you so!" She turned her head away and glanced down the long corridor where Carth and the astromech droid were attempting repairs. Ariate looked back, her face a little flushed. "You already had your own personal layover. Carth won't be good to us as a pilot if we just drag him around all the while knowing his son is out there."

Personal layover. That was one way to view the perspective-shifting experience that had been her mother. Bastila hoped her mother had made it to Coruscant all right. Bastila couldn't have that weighing on her conscience either. Not for the first time she wondered if that good deed had come from Revan herself, or the retroactive personality that had been placed into her mind. There had been too many occasions where certain things had slipped: her skills in battle, the slight accent that completely disappeared when certain topics were brought up, the way she interacted with the Mandalorian, and that _droid_ she'd picked up.

But attempting to decide whether the Jedi-appointed personality chose to be kind to Bastila, or whether Revan herself was doing the controlling just made the situation all the more troublesome. Bastila didn't know who to be grateful to. "Yes, well. I would like to say thank you again for your … help with my mother."

Ariate waved her hand. "You already said, don't worry."

"That being said," Bastila twisted her fingers within each other before catching herself and placing them behind her back, "I should not have let myself get to the point where I needed counseling in that situation. It was unprofessional. You are the novice here and I should be giving you guidance." It was worrying that the former Dark Lord of the Sith felt the need to bring Bastila to the path of the light when her own mind was clouded with personal matters. Or that a personality imprinted by the Council would already have the wisdom far beyond Bastila's for the situation.

The other woman smiled at her. "Hey, it was a rough situation. You're my friend. Friends give each other advice."

Friends. The idea seemed, well -- it seemed favorable in a way that worried Bastila. If she let herself be friends with this woman who was she friends with? The scout with the Deralian background so close to Revan's own, or the former Dark Lord whose life she might someday regret saving?

"Then I shall give you advice, as a friend."

The other woman raised a dark eyebrow. "Okay, shoot."

"I think your judgment was made far beyond need of – keeping the full ability of our pilot." Bastila ignored the frown on Ariate's face, which so closely resembled what she thought Darth Revan would look like under that mask.

"Carth's my friend too," Ariate said stubbornly. She leaned against the back of one of the metal benches in the common area. "And ship malfunction aside, Korriban isn't _that_much farther than Manaan."

That was a blatant lie; the distance was measurable enough to show that it was a clear side route. Not to mention the time they'd lost at this space station attempting repairs. Bastila lifted her chin a little. "I am not sure you are ready for the challenges that Korriban may show."

"What? Carth's son?" Ariate grinned. "How bad could he be?"

Bastila eyed her evenly.

Her bondmate rolled her head back. "Yeah, I know, Bastila. Terrors of the dark side and all that," her note ended on a drawl that was almost comforting. "I will be careful, but we have to get the Star Map so there's no point in putting it off." She lifted herself off the bench. "Besides, how hard could it be?" She flashed another grin and walked off towards where their pilot was currently swearing at the hyperdrive.

Bastila sighed and watched her walk off with much concern. Some of it personal.

Whichever personality the women Ariate Talke was, Bastila was certain neither of them would ever take the heed to actually listen to her.

* * *

Bastila Shan – Now (Give or Take Fifteen Minutes)

"Why is it whenever I travel with Jedi, I always end up in a stasis tank?" their current pilot muttered.

"TSF is --," the Telosian Security Force Guard looked up at the hulking figure of Canderous Ordo completely armored in his Mandalore costume and surrounded by his personal guard and blanched. "We are --" the guard continued, seeming to draw focus on Bastila as a relief, "-- we have to account for all suspicious landings after the attack on the station."

"You have _got_ to be fracking kidding me," Revan's foot tapped. Bastila could feel her impatience under her skin.

"We'll have to take you in for questioning, while we check the ship," the TSF guard glanced warily at Canderous again.

"Trying to see your reflection, small fry?" the vocoder in his helmet made Canderous sound even more imposing that he already was, if such a thing could be possible.

Bastila secretly scolded herself for the amusement she got from the TSF Guard's shrinking back. But Revan had caught it and was smiling at her. Her bondmate turned back towards the Guard. "Look, we really need to see Carth Onasi."

"The Admiral is currently not seeing—"

"Admiral?" Revan laughed. "That's great!" She quieted at the look from the TSF Guard, looking more annoyed than embarrassed.

Bastila sighed and stepped forward. "We appreciate your sense of duty to the Republic," she ignored the three snorts from behind her, "We truly do, but it is imperative that we speak with the Admiral as soon as possible."

The TSF Guard seemed to see her clearly for the first time; he stood up a little straighter. "I am sorry, Master Jedi, but our orders are very strict."

Bastila smiled genially at him, her hands still fresh behind her back. It had taken much time to be able to stop acting like a Jedi, but it took only a matter of seconds to restep into her role. "If you would contact the Admiral and let him know that we had arrived, I am certain he would be exceedingly willing to clear his schedule."

It had been easier to contact him months ago when there was less of this tense worry on all the Telosian faces. It was important that they not act rashly and keep calm to restore order to the fractured station. Citadel was full of survivors were already nervous from their second chance to be destroyed. Impulsive moves would not help anyone.

It had been so long since she had last seen Revan, that Bastila had completely forgotten to tell her this herself, instead trusting on maturity and Jedi dignity to keep her friend calm.

So then it was no surprise that when Bastila saw Revan making a pulling vault over one of the walls blocking their way into the station, "Bloody hell," left her lips.

Quickly orders were put together and soon almost half the TSF Guard were on their way after Revan, running down the station with one purpose in mind.

Bastila sighed and made her way up the now-free ramp. She doubted the warning would have stopped Revan anyway.

* * *

Revan Talke – 2 Years Earlier

Spending a year with Jarysh, Revan found she knew most things about him, but they all seemed surface dreary. Like what her old personality used to spew out on impulse. It was possible that the Oulanian was just that boring, but she wanted to find out for sure. He didn't fight like he was boring and he certainly didn't _look_ boring. Though that opinion may have been based more on the fact that she was desperately missing human contact. More specifically Carth.

She hadn't been this way on the Star Forge when she'd cut Malak off. She'd had focus there. Now, it was more like she was just coasting on a whim, traveling from one dead end to another.

They were finding more about the Sith'ari, but not about how to really destroy them. She could sense them now, but they were no longer parasitic hosts that had no personality. They were their own species without the hosts, traveling through this side of the universe and slowly but surely trying to find a way to leak into the other side. With no thought to the hosts they would take and destroy in the process.

And Jarysh. Well she knew his tattoos stretched to his stomach and that his background had been just as simple as hers (at least before the Jedi and all that followed), but that was about it. The silence was a nice, companionable kind of silence as they traveled to the next planet, but it was still silence.

"You never said why you were so interested in leaving your home world," Revan said finally, the crack of her voice breaking the quiet.

Jarysh glanced up at her with those unnatural-looking green eyes of his. He seemed to think for a minute, it had been a few months since they'd decide to leave completely and not even come back to Oulania for pit stops. Revan had been a child when she left her home world, she wasn't sure she would have made the same decision if she was the age she was now. "I am not as well connected as the rest of my tribe."

Revan could understand that. The feeling of disconnect she'd felt since she was a little girl was strong enough to make her reach for the ends of the galaxy. Usually people stayed in the routine they were in unless there was something wrong; something off.

"Seemed like more than that. The others didn't even want to ride a ship with me."

Jarysh smiled and leaned back on his seat. "You are a very unusual girl. They were scared of you."

Revan snorted. "Because I'm unusual or because I use the Force?"

"You do more than use it," Jarysh shook his head and glanced at the wide scope of stars that looked the same here as they did anywhere else in the universe. "You sing with Ashla. It sings with you. Even the Elders, who could not feel it, knew."

The basic premise of that was disturbing, made Revan feel even more ostracized than she had before, but something about Jarysh's voice made her pause. Made it feel more comforting. She pulled her legs under her on the chair. "So you didn't leave some crying special someone back on Oulania?"

Jarysh shook his head. "My troubles with women are wide and long. The one that might have been is long since bound and with child."

"See I never have that problem," Revan tucked some dark hair behind her ears. "I just have mine waiting for me when I come back, or you know floating dead in space." Maybe if she joked about it enough she'd feel less bad about either of them. So far it hadn't worked, but it was bound to come around.

"Carth is the one waiting?" Jarysh looked a little confused. "The pilot?"

Revan smiled, even though she just wanted to change the subject completely. It felt more like he was a million kilometers away when she talked about him, instead of keeping it her own personal thing, but Jarysh and she had run out of conversational ideas on the surface stuff after a month. "Yeah, he's probably back on Telos."

"Waiting for you?" The way Jarysh said it didn't sound like an accusation, but it felt like one.

"Probably, I'm the love of his life," Revan snorted. She shook her head at Jarysh's blank look. "I don't know. He might be, I hope he is, but I guess I wouldn't blame him—" She shouldn't, but she would. "—if he went off and got someone else. I mean he's got a pretty good track record of holding onto his ladies after they're gone for a long time, but after a good four year stint he might find some other charming dark-haired girl to sweep him off his feet."

"And when that happens?" Jarysh wasn't even looking at her, he was asking her questions she didn't want to think about let alone hear and he was just staring out into space.

"I don't know. I kill her?" Revan smiled when Jarysh turned his head. "I'm not thinking about it. I can't think about how they're moving on with their lives, or what they're all doing, I have to keep up with what I'm doing. There's no time limit." Hopefully. She was sure she had one and would reach it at a certain point. She had a strong feeling it'd be around that four year mark. He had a pattern after all.

Jarysh spun the captain's chair around to stare at her fully. "They? Who is this other one you are talking about? I am aware you have strange customs in your side of the galaxy, but you have more than one—"

Revan laughed so hard she felt it shake her intestines. She waved her hand. "No, no. They's just—it's just the people I left behind. The other would be—I mean there is no other, he's dead." Because she brought him up a dark path with no return, then returned herself and killed him not remembering anything about why he was so angry, so dark. "He's dead."

Jarysh nodded thoughtfully. "What is he like, this one?"

Revan felt for a second she should answer about Carth, a million things came to mind. None which she wanted to think about. "Malak?" She paused, considering. Like she really needed the moment to remember her best friend, first love, and partner in almost rebuilding the galaxy in her own image, "He was big, tall and—" she glanced at Jarysh watching her carefully, those green eyes on her, a tattoo cresting just below one of them "—had tattoos."

She ignored the way the large tan hands went up to his own.

Malak's had gone down pretty far too.

* * *

Revan Talke - Now

Maybe she had been a little impetuous, Revan thought as the entire TSF chased her down one module after another. And damn they could run fast. She had also forgotten how much blaster burns fracking hurt. Luckily, with as much training as she'd managed to squeeze in while she was gone, avoiding them was fairly easy. It was the not killing the TSF that was the hard part. But she could sense Carth somewhere ahead. She knew he was on the station, the squirmy guard with the man-crush on Canderous had said as much.

It had been too long. Way too long. And she was really tired of waiting on everything. Four years had been enough.

But they were really chasing her. She had to give their persistence some credit, not enough to not Force push the first row following her into the second, before jumping over another divider – but some.

_What do you plan to accomplish with this?_ Bastila's voice, even inside her head sounded like it was catching up to her.

_I really missed your level of shrill in my brain, Bast._ Revan slid underneath a vestibule stand and into a lift. She shut the lift door just before the TSF caught up. They'd probably be finding a way around her while she was traveling to the next module, she sure didn't remember half the way around the station, but she just knew where she had to go and she planned on doing it.

When the doors opened there weren't TSF officers, but there was an entire module that hadn't been here four years ago. Which made sense, but also meant she was lost. Had Carth's place moved? It was possible; he was an Admiral now apparently.

She'd seen those uniforms. It made her run faster, even if it was in the wrong direction. Flyboy would get the notice if he knew what was good for him.

_Revan, you are behaving irrationally and irresponsibly and you should stop this instant._ Revan didn't remember what her mother sounded like before she died, but she remembered what Bastila's sounded like and the tone and pitch was perfect. Hell, it was Master Vrook-like.

She skidded to halt when she came to a pathway that split into three directions. _I'm being assertive._

A blaster shot that almost missed her shoulder made the decision for her and Revan took down the left pathway. It was another module and three benches before Revan found Carth.

And ran past him.

She slowed herself again, moving so fast with the Force that she tripped and toppled onto the ground, missing another blaster shot. She scrambled to her feet and attempting a casual stance and walking over to the incredulous looking Admiral. "So flyboy, did you miss me?"

Fourteen TSF officers skidded up behind Carth before he could answer, his mouth slightly open. "Admiral, do you know this woman?"

Carth narrowed his eyes for a second. "No. I've never seen her before in my life."

"That is not even funny!" Revan pointed her finger at him and then lowered it when fourteen blasters pointed in her direction.

Carth's face softened into a smirk. "You're late."

There were a lot of smart comebacks that came to mind, but that smile on that face, in that uniform, none of them really mattered. Revan made almost a running leap and crushed herself against Carth, trying to crawl into his skin. And the man being who he was didn't take too long to react. He kissed her hard enough to rock the feeling down to her feet and make it feel like he hadn't kissed her in four years. And it felt worth the wait.

He felt warm, and familiar, and perfectly Carth. She couldn't even remember any of her reasons for leaving and had her hand pushing down the back of his collar when a loud and mental, _AHEM_ came from Bastila's mouth and the bond.

Carth and Revan broke apart, his hands still gripping her arms like he was afraid she was going to leave any second. "I think we should preemptively get a room," Revan said into his chin.

Carth's face was a little flushed and he wrapped an arm around her, turning towards the larger crowd of TSF officers, half looking uncomfortable and half nodding in approval. He cleared his throat and she could hear the rumbling in his chest from where she'd tucked herself under his arm. "I have the situation under control, Lieutenant. You and the other TSF can go back to your duties."

A couple of the TSF officers actually winked at Carth, but when he'd put on what could only be called his 'Admiral' face they turned around and all started to walk away. Unfortunately, that didn't work the same on Bastila, who had her arms crossed under her chest and was frowning at Revan.

Not to mention the rest of the ragtag crew that had managed to follow. Revan looked up at Carth. "Do it so they _all_ go away."

Bastila huffed. "Did the _Ebon Hawk_ land here recently, Carth?"

Carth's hand was absently rubbing Revan's arm and it felt amazing in a way that made her want to rip his clothes off right there, but he was frowning and nodding. "Yes. The Exile landed by—" he glanced at the crew meandering behind Bastila, "herself."

Huh. Revan hadn't actually thought that following that trail to Telos would have actually worked.

Bastila probably caught some of that, because she was looking at Revan with her eyebrows raised like she was about to crap out a lightsaber.

Revan steadily ignored her. "You know where she is now?" Not that she cared. She wondered where the closest room was and how fast she could get Carth there.

Carth nodded and looked down at her, his smile stretching over his face like he just remembered she was there. "She took a shuttle down to one of the restoration zones. Why? Did something happen?"

That question was so a Bastila question and directed as such, but Revan was glad Carth was still looking at her when he said it. She smiled up at him and rubbed her nose against some of his stubble that was blessedly not absent now that he was an admiral.

Bastila shot her a glare that she could feel, and sighed. "Yes, Carth. We have reason to believe that was not actually the Exile, but a Sith with a very highly adaptive skill at changing her form."

"Like shape-shifting?" That crinkle between his brows Carth was getting was so cute.

She was certain she used to think it was old-manish, but at the moment the way he was breathing and his chest was lifting was making her lightheaded.

"No," Revan said drawing his attention back to her, "more like a really good illusion. The chick Ulic Qel-Droma was banging used to be really good at it."

"_Revan_," Bastila sounded scandalized. She brought herself back into a more Jedi stance. "Then we will need to procure transportation to the Restoration Zone." _And you will have to come._

_What?_ Revan clung a little to Carth. He smelled like old paper and cinnamon. _Why? You can totally take on a Sith Lord. It's not like she can get anywhere from where she is._

_The Exile may be in danger and you are the only one who seems to be able to sense these _things

Revan crinkled up her nose, but she didn't have to respond. There was a blue streak of an interruption that latched around her waist instead. "Revan!"

Revan hadn't really appreciated the idea of an interruption, but seeing Mission there made her grin broadly. "Mish, what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Mission's voice went up a pitch, "What are you doing here? We all thought you were dead!"

Revan glanced at Carth to see if that was true, he didn't really meet her gaze. She glanced back down at Mission as the girl – and there was a shocker – the _woman_ stepped back. Mission was shapely and formed and -- fracking hell -- had bigger breasts than Revan.

Revan tried not to frown, she was really too happy to see all of them to do so. "Well, I'm not. I'm actually _apparently_," she glanced at Bastila, who was lifting an eyebrow, "going to go to the Restoration Zone to find a Sith Lord."

"You've been here five minutes and you brought a Sith Lord and all of TSF on you?" Revan had almost forgotten that Dustil had even existed for a good fifteen minutes. He looked a little at odds seeing her.

Hell, maybe they _had_ thought she was dead. "I am just that talented," Revan said with a smirk. She glanced at Bastila. "Can we hurry this roadshow up then? Transport, location, and then—" she winked at Carth and didn't go into excruciating detail for Mission's sake; she may have made a couple of eyebrow wiggles and dirty hand gestures though.

Mission made hurling noises and Dustil gagged.

Carth just laughed and Revan had missed that noise the most. "You got it, gorgeous."

Revan smiled at him and then turned on her heel. "Okay, Canderous, Bastila, Rand, Dustil, you're with me. The rest of you go see if there's anything on the _Hawk_ that has any clues about what Traya's been up to."

A few of them looked at her like she shouldn't have been ordering them around. Mission looked annoyed she hadn't been invited along. Rand looked bored and Carth just looked at her. She stared at him and grasped at his jacket. "And Carth Onasi, kiss me hard enough to last me until I get back."

"You got it, gorgeous," Carth repeated. He was always a good solider and followed orders to the letter.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dustil Onasi – 5 Years Earlier_

The transport had taken off. Somewhere down on Korriban, chaos was ensuing. The place that Dustil had considered home for more years than he wanted to count was now gone. Even if Lashowe hadn't said that new recruit was cutting through everyone when they left, there'd still be the problem that Dustil could never go back. Not after what he knew now…

So he took a little bit of it with him.

"I _can't_ believe you hit me, Onasi," Mekel scowled at him, sitting up and practically leaning over the seat so that Dustil could see him.

Dustil paid him no attention and leaned back in the chair, feeling the almost unfamiliar sensation of lifting off settling into his gut. "Yes you can."

Mekel's mouth twisted angrily. "I can't believe I _let_ you hit me."

"You were cracking up," Dustil felt the thrusters kick in. He remembered exactly when he and his father had gone over the stages and corresponding sensations of stabilization. He used to have this down to a science. Lately the only thing he had down to a science was the Sith.

"_You're a man now, son."_

"I did what I had to."

Mekel punched the back of his seat. "I was fine."

Dustil ignored it; it was more like a petulant thud in his back than a threatening gesture anyway. There were four of them. Dustil had honestly not thought any would actually come, but more changes were in the works than his best friend and girlfriend dying.

He knew she was dead. Hadn't wanted to accept it, but he knew.

It was still hard to believe that Uthar had something to do with it, but he'd had the cold hard proof in his hands. Now it was in his pocket.

"You were freaking out, rambling about Jorak Uln still being alive and torturing you and that new recruit. You weren't fine. We can shove you out an airlock if that'll make you feel better."

Mekel mumbled something out of Dustil's earshot, but seemed to be mulling the point over.

That was good enough. Dustil sighed and leaned his head against his fist. "Too bad we didn't get to Shaardan in time." He was an asshole. A complete dick. But Shaardan was solid. Never ratted anyone out. An hour ago that was the best quality for a friend in the Sith.

Kel Algwinn snorted next to him. Then his face softened a little, like he regretted it.

Dustil didn't know how he'd lasted a day. _Weak. Weak. Weak._ Korriban's chanting still picked at the back of his brain.

But they weren't on Korriban anymore. They could never go back. Dustil dropped his hand and glanced at Kel, trying not to look for weaknesses, or angles, or any other thing he'd gotten used to looking for over the years. He'd brought Kel because he was his friend.

Kel had already been leaving, because of that fallen Jedi that was making her way through the ranks on the fast track. Kel wasn't going to get Dustil.

If he had tried...if he had tried before Dustil's father had come – Dustil probably would have turned him in for prestige. Korriban was still chanting '_weak, weak, weak_' in his ear There was no probably about it.

"How are you doing, Kel?"

Kel looked a little surprised at the question, he shrugged a shoulder. "Better than Lashowe."

They both glanced back between the seat where Lashowe, blond cropped-cut bitch of Korriban, slept, exhausted from crying to get them cheaper tickets. A puddle of drool was starting to pile up on Mekel's shoulder, who she'd slumped down against.

"Should say better than Mekel," Dustil said with a snort.

Mekel flipped them a rude gesture and settled back into his seat. His eye was going to have a shiner. An hour ago he probably would have tried to kill Dustil for that.

Dustil turned back in his seat and stared at the back of the chair in front of him.

"Must suck though," Kel said thoughtfully.

"What?" Dustil glanced at him. "What must suck?" At the moment, Lashowe drooling on his shoulder was better than considering all the things he would have done an hour ago. Was better than looking right at Kel and wondering (or calculating) how much longer he would have had left.

Wishing he'd known that when he was looking at Selene.

She was holding him back. Maybe two days ago he would have accepted that and moved on. That was what really scared him.

"Losing someone you care about like that. I mean, her and Shaar were…." Kel shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's all hard enough as it is, you know?"

"Yeah," Dustil stared at back of his seat again. "That must really suck."

He didn't say anything the rest of the trip.

* * *

_Dustil – Now _

The trip down to the planet's surface was shaky. It might have been the pilot, or it might have just been the unrelenting ragged stubbornness of the surface of Telos that just didn't want to heal itself. Sometimes Dustil couldn't really blame it. He leaned back into his seat and just took the turbulence as it came.

A few hours ago, before Revan had showed up again, he'd been a mechanic working at a parts shop for speeders and extra supplies for the Citadel with an occasional second job wherever he could pick up, the son of an Admiral, and a man with a life.

Now he was back again. Just like that. With a snap of her vaunted fingers and the galaxy being put back into its proper – in peril place. Dustil Onasi, the redeemed Jedi. Poor former Sith recruit stolen from a dying world who'd drifted through darkness until he was smacked in the face with reality again. But he was a Jedi and there was things to do, evil to fight, wrongs to right.

Or so it seemed.

If anything, Dustil was glad to have his lightsaber back on his hip. Months of hiding it in his room, his boot, his sleeve, his toolbox, was making him more paranoid and less comfortable than he wanted to be.

And he sure as hell hadn't missed _her_.

"I cannot believe that little worm didn't jump to answer my command," Revan threw her hands up and shook her head. "Give a man a helmet and he thinks he can run the universe."

Bastila Shan sighed lightly. She seemed to be doing that a lot. "I think we are all perfectly capable of handling the situation, given our current predicament." Her mouth twisted into what might have been a frown on someone else. "Though, I must admit, I am surprised you did not invite more of the Jedi from the Exile's crew."

Revan shrugged. "Traya might flip a U-turn and come back around. The Citadel could use the protection."

She was lying. Dustil wasn't sure how he could tell, but he knew. There was just something about the casual tone of her voice.

Dustil reexamined who'd come with them. Bastila Shan, a famous and well respected Jedi, Revan; a famous if not well respected former Jedi, a homicidal droid, a Mandalorian, him and their pilot, Athon—or something like that. He stared at the back of the guy's head. A small probe of his mind didn't yield anything, just…. _Numbers, what the frack?_ Ship readouts, or—

The pilot turned his head away from the cockpit and stared at him for one long moment.

It was like a scent that Dustil could smell but didn't yet have a meaning. All it said to him was that he wasn't really pleased that this guy was flying the shuttle.

Except for the Mandalorian--Dustil tried not to scoff at that—everyone on the ship probably had something in common. Dustil tried not to let it rile him up.

He automatically shifted his thoughts to the next best thing. That stupid can-head Mandalorian was staring at him, blank visor over his face and a rusted kind of red all over the armor. Dustil knew the pressure points on that thing; hours of torturing them in those cells or in the pits for no good reason at all in every way possible, armor or no, gave a guy a lot of experience.

He let his voice lower into a challenge. "What are _you_ looking at?"

"Someone's tetchy," the tinny vocoder in that stupid helmet made every Mandalorian's voice sound alike. "You'd think after all this time with your father, you would have calmed down a bit."

Dustil went to his feet, ignoring Bastila and Revan's chatter. "What the hell do you know about me and my father?"

"Geez, Dustil," the vocoder voice said in a not very Mandalorian way, "I'm just trying to make some conversation."

Dustil stalled for a second, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. There was a certain rhythm of the words that sounded familiar. He thought he could place it, but…no, it couldn't be—

"_Kel_?" Dustil said in disbelief.

"Hey," the red-armored Mandalorian raised his hand in a wave, "I'm sort of wiggling my eyebrows in an almost charming way right now, but you probably can't tell."

There was a _crssh_ sound as a now clearly Kel Algwinn lifted his helmet off.

Dustil felt like he'd been hit in the gut with a stunner. Now that he knew it was Kel, the armor seemed more intimidating. It made the Mandalorian seem bigger than he'd ever remembered the quiet boy who hadn't ever really fit in at Korriban. There were no echoes of _weak_ now in his mind, but all he could say was, "You're blond."

Kel moved an armored hand through his hair. "Yeah, let it grow out after Korriban – the sun on Dxun probably helped too."

"Sun does a lot, apparently," Dustil muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He was too stunned to realize that the small shuttle had gone completely silent.

"_Knight_ Algwinn?" Bastila's full mouth had dropped open. "You—you were hiding with the Mandalorians during the purges?" She sounded like she wanted that to be the answer. Dustil kind of did too.

Kel shook his head. "Not exactly."

Revan was still frowning to herself, like she didn't recognize him. Then her eyebrows raised and she laughed loudly. "The small kid from Korriban!"

Now Bastila's face was turning red. "Canderous did _not_ convince you to—" She closed her eyes and took a calming breath, but it did not seem to help with Revan laughing. Bastila snapped her head in Revan's direction. "This is not a laughing matter, Revan. The Order is short of qualified Knights as it is, and for Canderous Ordo to have—" Her cheeks were puffing up with the effort of keeping her cool; Dustil could practically feel her seething.

"Who ever heard of a Jedi converting to a Mandalorian?" Revan snorted and looked like she was trying to stop laughing, but instead started up again, "I love that bastard Ordo."

Kel looked grossly uncomfortable. "Maybe I should have kept my helmet on?"

"Maybe," Dustil agreed, while Bastila and Revan turned to each other in a silent argument. He glanced up at Kel and squared his shoulders. "Thought you might have been dead."

"Nope," Kel dropped his helmet onto the bench. "Just happy."

Dustil snorted at the saccharine ridiculousness of that statement and held out his hand. "It's good to see you, Kel."

Kel gave him a lopsided smile and took his hand. "Have you heard from any of the others?"

Dustil shook his head. "I haven't seen Lashowe since the Jedi split up and I only saw Mekel once after the last time I saw you."

"They're probably fine," Kel said. He sounded so sure of himself. Dustil never thought he'd be less optimistic than a Mandalorian.

He made his mouth twist into a smile. "Yeah. Sure. I'm sure they are."

There was a jerk as the shuttle landed and a moment later, the pilot—_Atton?—_ walked out of the cockpit, his mouth tight. "These reunions and theological discussions are great and all, but don't we have an old bitch to kill?"

Revan nodded. "Show us where that ice tunnel you were talking about was. The one with Atris. That's probably our best bet considering."

Bastila jerked her chin away from Revan and brushed invisible dust off her robes. Kel slipped his helmet back on and hoisted up a blaster of a size Dustil had never seen him use in Korriban and followed Revan down the gangplank. The pilot followed and Bastila pursed her lips, but went after them anyway.

Dustil was all set to follow behind and keep up the rear. But he could see the snow at the bottom of the gangplank. He hadn't been down to the planet's surface much, and it certainly hadn't been snowing, but he probably should have prepared himself for the possibility when artic regions were mentioned. It didn't stop his boots from feeling stuck to the metal.

It hadn't been snowing on that terrible day, but for one moment with the ash falling from the sky, he'd thought it was.

"Dustil?" Bastila had paused on the gangplank and turned back to walk over to him, her boots making light little echoes in the almost empty shuttle. "Are you all right?"

Dustil made himself smile and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." He moved one foot in front the other until it was down the metal ramp and touching snow. When he looked around he couldn't see anything other than ice and the fuzzy light from the shields covering the area. Dustil wrapped his arms around himself and kept pace with Bastila as they walked behind the rest.

The breath that the older Jedi took was visible through her nose as she exhaled. "I have only been on the surface of Telos once since the Restoration Project began."

Dustil dropped his arms and then shoved his hands in his pockets to keep warm. "Not much to see yet anyway."

"Still, it is remarkable work they have been doing here, even after the Jedi had to… hide their earlier involvement." She shook her head.

Dustil didn't respond other than grunt and listen to the trudge of his boots into the snow.

Bastila looked at him and then glanced up at where Revan was loudly complaining about the cold with a Mandalorian and a pilot Dustil still hadn't completely figured out in tow. "I do not begrudge the current company, but I am at a loss as to how they were chosen."

Dustil snorted and picked up his feet. A lonely snow covered structure was dead ahead. "Experience."

Bastila raised an eyebrow. Her gait as she picked up the pace made it seem like she was floating on top of the snow. Maybe she was cheating with the Force. "I don't see what kind of experience we all share. You and I are the only ones who are still Jedi."

Dustil just raised an eyebrow back at her.

Bastila's face fell and then quickly contorted into something a Jedi might call anger. She stared heatedly at the back of Revan's neck as they stepped up onto the harder snow covered surface of the structure. "I see."

It was almost nice having something in common with the Hope of the Republic. They both didn't want to be treated like their only value was that they fell and came back again.

Though now part of Dustil saw where Revan was coming from. And that part was the reason he was glad to get out of the snow.

* * *

_Jene 'the Exile' Wynn  
_  
It was a like a perfectly tuned song. One of the Beastriders that Jene had run into on Onderon had said something like that. Even Mira, the cynical bounty hunter, had become overwhelmed by the heart of Nar Shaddaa.

The second the neural restraint clicked off Jene's neck and she could feel the Force again-- no metaphor seemed worthy to express it.

She let it flow around her, through the room, against the ceiling, back towards the balustrades and the farthest corners, spin in all directions, dance around her toes and then back up to the tip of her nose, suck back in and spread inside her and--

_Kavar said his words so softly, "In you, we saw a wound in the Force."_

Die to a slow ember. Jene brought her hand up to her neck and eyed the Handmaiden carefully. "Why did you do that?" Her voice was still a whisper. She had no idea how many days, weeks, months, had past since Dantooine, but it felt like years since she'd had a decent drink of water.

The Handmaiden just stared at her with nervous eyes and held out her hands for Jene to take.

Jene took the other woman's hands and pulled herself to her feet. She let the Force surge through her unused legs that were dying of pins and needles. The woman next to her felt like that too -- pins and needles of Force, curling barely beneath the surface.

_Vrook scoffed, "Yes... you can feel the Force again but you cannot feel yourself." She ignored the truth to his words, "You are a cipher, forming bonds, leeching the life of others, siphoning their will and dominating them."_

"You have the Force," Jene whispered. She shook her head, ignoring whatever response the Handmaiden might have had. Of course she'd find another hidden Force user. It seemed to be a talent of hers. "What's your name?"

"I have taken a vow that prevents me from--" the Handmaiden turned away from Jene, "I suppose that does not matter anymore." She turned back and managed a pathetic smile. "My name is Brianna."

Jene nodded, stretching every muscle she could get hold of and clearing her throat a few times. "Brianna. Where is everyone?"

Brianna eyed her cautiously. "I was afraid you would be unable to sense it."

"What?" Jene rubbed her sore throat and the raw skin that had formed there from the neural restraint. She let the Force flow there, feeling great relief as the skin knitted together. She was still desperately thirsty.

She moved off the platform and away from the chair. The Force surged around her again. She needed her lightsaber. She needed to stop Atris and Kreia and find her crew. She needed to--

"I didn't see much," Brianna clarified, before falling into step beside Jene and taking her arm. "There was much arguing between my Mistr-- Atris and the other one who came. And then the old one fell and Atris left with my sisters. Her energy was so black, thick with it, I-" Brianna's voice was shamed, "I ran and I hid."

"Atris is gone?" Jene repeated numbly, she spread her senses out towards the artic holdings. The chill was strong and she had to wrap her arms around herself. "Do you have my lightsaber?"

She and Bao-Dur had spent so much time making it.

Brianna nodded and took off in another direction. "The lockers have all your supplies."

A lightsaber and a pair of robes from Ossus. Some supplies. Jene wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "They just left? All of them?"

Atris hadn't even said anything. Jene wasn't sure she was surprised; the only things the woman had said to her certainly hadn't been friendly.

Brianna was already far ahead of her. Jene quickened her pace to catch up. Her footsteps echoed along the pathway to one of the sparring rooms, answering her own question. The chill bit into her shoulder blades and Jene rubbed them absently.

The Handmaiden led her past a few doors until they reached a storage room. She pointed to one of the lockers and Jene wedged it open, letting out a sigh of relief the second her lightsaber flew back into her opened palm. It was like a representation of all she'd lost in her exile, and having it back distracted her momentarily from--

"This isn't my lightsaber," Jene said,frowning. She activated the blade and her breath caught as silver emerged instead of cyan. "This--"

"You said it was yours," Brianna frowned, "when you first came here."

It was her Jedi saber. The one she'd shoved into the stone pillar in the middle of a Council proclamation that she was to walk alone in the Unknown Regions. A punishment for being the only one brave enough to come back.

It was the one her Master had taught her to build, carefully under nervous fingers. It was the lightsaber that she'd sparred with Malak with, never quite matching his skill. It was the lightsaber with the silver crystal that Kavar had gifted her with after she'd passed her Knight trials. It was the one Atris had stolen and used for years while she gave information away about Katarr and betrayed the order far more than Jene ever had.

Hot tears slid down her cheeks, the only warmth in the room. She wiped them away angrily and looked down at the rest of the box. There were a few things, but nothing else that belonged to her. She knew she had more robes on the _Ebon Hawk_, but Jene had no idea what happened to the ship or her crew.

After Dantooine and being knocked unconscious by Kreia, the only thing she remembered was waking up here and knowing that Vrook, Zez-Kai El and Kavar were all dead, for proclaiming her unworthy of carrying the Force. For being deaf, dumb, and blind.

"I need clothes," Jene said numbly to the Handmaiden.

Brianna nodded and went around the corner. Her movements were swift, with a dancer's grace.

Jene tilted her head back and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to put things back into order. She needed to find a shuttle to get back to Citadel and maybe rally with one of the Republic officers, the Admiral who'd talked about her on those holos maybe, find out where the _Hawk_ was. See if her crew was still alive.

_Mical, Visas, Mira, Bao-Dur, Atton..._

Jene took another deep breath and Brianna came back around the corner, holding out a pair of white handmaiden robes.

Jene nodded her thanks and slipped them on quickly, clipping her lightsaber to her waist. "How long have I been here?"

_How long has Kavar been dead?_

"Weeks," Brianna said. "You were brought here directly before the Telosian attack."

"Telosian attack?" Jene asked, running her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to smooth it down.

"The Ravager attacked Citadel Station," Brianna must have caught Jene's worried look, because she added, "They are all fine. The _Ebon Hawk_ boarded and took care of the Sith Lord."

"The _Hawk_? Are-- the crew, are they all right? Did Kreia hurt them?"

_Did I?_

Brianna looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, that is all I know. My sisters and I were kept away from most news broadcasts in the last months."

"Your sisters?" Jene brought her hand through her blonde hair one last time before letting it drop. "Why did you... stay behind?"

Brianna brought a hand to her face. "I wear my mother's face. My sisters do not. They weren't very forgiving and I--" she shook her head. "I was afraid."

_Kreia knelt down next to her and her milky eyes were creased in understanding, "It is because you were afraid."_

Jene chalked the shiver up to the cold weather, in refusal to let it be anything else.

* * *

_Carth Onasi_

"They said what?" the young woman, who wasn't exactly a fourteen year old running the streets of Taris with a Wookiee anymore, screeched at T3-M4.She put her hands on her hips and glared at each member of the Exile's crew, who were just part of the assortment of people Revan had brought to Telos and were now loitering around the loading dock while TSF took a look at the _Hawk_.

Carth smiled in a way that felt unnatural on his face - it wasn't bogged down with the knowledge that Revan was in the Unknown Regions dead or alive anymore. "What'd they say, Misson?"

Mission turned towards Carth, "That Zabrak--" she pointed at the tech that could probably have done a lot more good on Telos, Bao-Dur, "said that T3 needed a memory wipe. He'd forget all about us!"

"It's not just his memory core," the Zabrak tech said, frowning. "It affects his systems, which I _fixed_," he said pointedly in Mission's direction, but from the whirring T3-M4 let out, it wasn't clear who the comment was actually directed towards.

Carth shook his head, brushing a hand over his uniform and walking towards the _Hawk_. The old girl had better days, but she still held up well. He missed piloting her, having Revan lean over his chair and chatter, laugh with him, be _here_. Instead of having to go to the surface of Telos the second she came back.

He frowned, and that felt all too natural on his face.

"Admiral Onasi?" the voice wasn't familiar, but when Carth turned around he could see the Onderonian regalia clearly and that was enough to straighten his posture.

The restoration project had done a lot with Onderon the past month, and they hoped to do more. He supposed he had the Jedi Exile to thank for that as well.

He nodded politely. "I'm afraid we haven't met."

"Faene Corr," the woman said, extending her hand. Carth shook it and she placed it back at her hip. "I'm in the middle of a diplomatic mission with the Mandalorians, but I wanted to ask how the Militia did in regards to the recent attack on the Citadel."

Carth tried not to frown in front of an obvious diplomat. Or ask what exactly Onderon was going to do about the Mandalorians that was _diplomatic_.

Mical's reports had mentioned Ordo's activities, but Carth hadn't had a moment to track down the man to get more details and he wasn't sure if Canderous would give him a straight answer if he asked. A Republic Admiral and the Mandalore was a lot further away from being a pilot and a washed up merc. And from the look of him, standing taller in that armor, Carth wasn't sure he even wanted to ask.

"They were a big help. We really appreciated it, especially considering Onderon's recent--" Carth cut himself off. That probably wasn't the best thing to bring up given Corr's facial expression. He wasn't loving this line of conversation either; the attack on Telos had been too close to destroying everything they'd tried to rebuild.

"Onderon trains their soldiers well," Carth offered.

Corr nodded, no expression on her face. "That's good to hear. I was afraid Vaklu might have ruined them in my absence."

Carth had read a great deal from Mical's reports about the recent struggles on Onderon and how that had led to actually having help when the Ravager attacked. This woman hadn't been mentioned, but neither had any of this Sith'ari stuff Revan had brought up.

He planned on asking her about it more when he could get his hands on her again.

Carth let out a sigh. Mostly he was hoping he would have a chance to get his hands on her before something else happened. For the moment, maybe he could talk with Mical, find out where she'd come from; all the details his mind needed to know and had time to find out while the TSF finished doing a sweep of the _Ebon Hawk_. "Excuse me, Citizen Corr."

If he'd missed a title or something important, the woman gave no indication she was insulted by it. He needed to be more careful with that kind of stuff now that he was an Admiral, which he'd been telling himself since he'd been promoted. So far it hadn't stuck.

Carth walked back to where Bao-Dur was now plainly ignoring Mission, who was typing away furiously on a keypad. A rueful smile came over his face anyway. There might have been new players, but it was always the same game. In some ways that was comforting.

Carth took a breath and tried to think of the best way to approach his operative without revealing his identity, but from the way Mical and that redhead--Mira? the report said Mira, a bounty hunter from Nar Shaddaa-- were wearing those Jedi robes they'd taken from the _Ebon Hawk_, he wasn't sure what Mical's position actually was.

"What'd you think?" Mira said, twirling around for the blond man. "Jene said they were Nomi Sunrider's."

"I highly doubt the accuracy of that claim," Mical said dryly, straightening out his own robes. "But they fit you well," he told her, before turning towards Carth. "Admiral," he acknowledged.

Carth nodded. "You mind if I speak with you for a moment, Mical?"

"Of course not," Mical bowed his head deferentially and glanced back at Mira. "Excuse me a moment."

Mira just snorted, waving him off and heading towards the Zabrak tech, who was still being accosted by an irate Twi'lek waving a datapad.

"What is it you need of me, Admiral?" The way Mical spoke was always plain, polite. There was nothing to read in that tone.

Carth had thought it sounded familiar before, but it wasn't until the younger man was wearing Jedi Robes that he realized it was the way Jedi spoke. "I was just wondering..." he fumbled with the words, trying to make them careful. He wasn't cut out for this kind of subterfuge. He was much better flying spaceships. "I just wanted to check-in. I haven't gotten a report in a while."

"Yes, well," Mical cleared his throat, lightly. "It has been a very hectic few months."

Sure. Now that Carth had pinned down the Jedi voice, he didn't trust a word out of Mical's mouth. He could catch little inflections now that might have meant completely different things. But Carth had always been had trouble dealing with Jedi the same way he had trouble dealing with diplomats.

People needed to just speak plainly. "Are you a Jedi now, Mical?" Carth asked, gesturing to the other man's robes.

The sudden question seemed to actually get a genuine reaction out of Mical. He shifted on his feet and straightened his robes again, like a wrinkle would kill him. Carth brought a hand down over his own uniform, unconsciously.

"The Council hasn't actually offic--" Mical started, but Carth's attention had to flip back to his duty again.

Because an officer of the Telosian Security Force was coming towards him again, and with Revan and his son on Telos' surface, the sight felt like a cold stone in Carth's gut.

"Admiral!" the russet haired officer said, breathing heavily as he ran up to Carth. "You told us to tell you if there was any shuttle from the surface..." He waited only for Carth to nod. "We just had a report of a small shuttle cruiser trying to book passage near Module 12."

"Occupants?" Carth said, frowning.

"A woman who claims to be a Jedi Master and a contingent of Echani. They were giving the docking director some trouble, sir."

There was a crackle over the soldier's comm. "-_-zzt_ attacking, send for reinforcements--"

Carth's hands were on his blasters and he was barking out orders to the TSF who were already making their way in the direction of the ship.

He hoped all this trouble meant Dustil, Revan, and Bastila were all right.

"Thought you liked the quiet life, Republic?" Ordo said, running at pace beside him. Almost like old times.

"I do," Carth said, and tried to ignore the fact that the Mandalore was definitely grinning behind that helmet of his. Some things might have changed, like the way he ran at this age, but in the end that bastard was still a bastard.

* * *

_Revan Talke_

"Observation: The readings underneath our current location indicate a power source matching the greasy one's specifications--"

"I'm not greasy," Rand snapped at HK-47. "And it's right through here," he gestured with his hand and shook his head, giving Revan another careful look before picking up his pace.

"Statement: Master, as we now know the location, the greasy meatbag pilot is unnecessary. Supplication: As the company of the whiny orange meatbag is also back in Master's favor, this one is just extraneous baggage. Suggestion: Target practice is--"

"No," Revan said easily, feeling the snow crunch under her boots. She would have told the droid to shut up, but part of her missed his voice. The other part of her was very aware of the fact that he was the only one talking to her.

Their pilot hadn't said two words to her, and since she had a very good idea who he really was, she was fine with that. Dustil Onasi had never been one for long and touching heart-to-hearts, which was fine since Revan was still just pretty much thinking about getting his father alone the second she got out of this cold. And the Mandalorian -- Revan had to stop herself from laughing again -- Kel Algwinn was chatting it up with Dustil.

The thing Revan wasn't really sure of was why her bondmate, who hadn't shut up since she'd gotten back, was now eerily quiet.

_What's got _your_ panties in a twist, Bast?_ Revan shot through their bond.

She was rewarded with Bastila's steps momentarily stalling before they returned to their pace. Her lips were drawn together in a frown that looked too much like a pout on that face, but Revan was sure the younger woman wouldn't appreciate her pointing that out.

"Once we find this... Traya, what do you propose we do? You said these," those full lips twisted, "Sith'ari? These Sith'ari are next to impossible to defeat."

She'd said _kill_, but that wasn't really worth nitpicking at the moment. "They're a symbiotic species," Revan said breezily, ignoring the way the cold bit at her nose and chapped her lips. "They take up a shared space with other life-forms for survival. Used to be shared species with these _Riiskiahhdkos_," she said in Ancient Sith, "some smaller species that have no ears, and the Rakata."

"The Rakata?" Bastila's irritated expression slipped off her face with some surprise. "Do you think this could have some connection to the Star Forge?"

"Maybe," Revan shrugged. _That's what I was thinking when I was looking into the Star Forge, but a lot of those memories still get mixed up with Ariate chugging down a swoop track on Deralia._

It wasn't hard to make the thought bitter. Now that she could remember all that she wanted before she'd gone Dark Lord of the Sith, and knew that all of it was what her fake life had, she couldn't decide if having her real memories back or still having her fake ones was worse.

Fifteen years of memories of her Da and none of them real, because the man had really died long before that and she hadn't seen him as much as she should have after joining the Jedi for the chance at a bigger library and a sense of adventure.

Bastila frowned again and stared off at a couple of snow covered hills before turning back to Revan. "So they need a host species to thrive?"

"Yeah, but after they found _Ashla_-- the Force I mean," Revan shook her head, trying to get the vernacular she'd been speaking with Jarsyh out of her head. Now that she'd seen Carth again and was back into the real universe, the guilt from faking her death without even leaving a note for the Oulianan was settling in a little.

She pushed it aside. "They started carving people open with the Force. Leaving them completely blank and taking their bodies. It's-- they used to be an actual entity. Now they're--" she moved her hand, "energy. I don't think they have their own form."

Bastila's hand gripped on her lightsaber and she looked ahead again. "There's a faint presence up ahead."

"Entrance is around this way, I think," Rand said at nearly the same time.

Bastila was frowning; her lips pursed again, this time in concentration. "The presence is... weakening. I think they're dying."

The pilot looked up at that. He pushed ahead with a frown on his face, scouring the snow covered area for an entrance. He either found it or felt like tearing through rock, because his lightsaber was out cutting the thing open and kicking it inside the hidden building before running inside.

"We should hurry our pace," Bastila said, while she was already doing that.

Revan followed her and felt Dustil and Kel following behind as they all made their way down the long staircase further into the ice tunnels.

The call of death was strong, thick with it. And familiar. They did not have to go far to find the woman dying.

But it wasn't Jene.

Rand's lightsaber was out, orange glow reflecting against the icy walls. He held it pointed towards the woman on the floor. "The old bitch isn't dead," he offered in explanation as Bastila pushed him aside, kneeling down at her side.

The last time Revan had met her the woman had told her to call her Traya. Maybe after the Trayus Academy, or maybe she'd named the Academy after herself. Revan had just thought it was a transitional call, something to give her a new name for her new Sith persona.

But after she'd traveled the Unknown Regions, Revan had known better; her first Master had been taken over by a Sith'ari. And now the Sith'ari was gone.

"What happens to the bodies once they leave, Revan?" Bastila said, quietly. The question she must have meant to ask earlier. Or she'd overheard Revan's thoughts.

"They die," Revan said, kneeling next to her bondmate.

"Revan," the old woman whispered, her thin hand grasping Revan's wrist with the same strength she'd had in her prime. "I'm glad you came."

"You --" Revan swallowed the emotions, "You're dying." How much was her Master aware of while it was happening? How much of her was still left? Did Revan have to explain? "That thing that was inside you--"

"I asked it," her former Master said in Ancient Sith. "A partnership of sorts. _They_ are still looking for the perfect host."

Going from teaching a young Padawan Ancient Sith techniques to willingly merging with beings that were about as close to being the dark side of the Force as possible. Her first Master, certainly had a way of things none of Revan's other masters had.

"I don't usually agree with the Council," Revan said, turning her hand to wrap around the wrinkled one on her wrist, "but they were probably dead on, exiling you."

"Possible..." the woman said, still clinging onto life. "The-- it has taken another willing host, though her mind is warped. Atris. She will call herself Traya now. There will always be a change as long as this universe lies in constraints begging for balance." Her smile was almost dead. "It is good to see you again, Revan."

Revan gripped the hand tighter, ignoring the subtle prod through the bond from Bastila. She bowed her head as the life drained out of her first master and the old woman died.

There was nothing but silence for a long moment, before Revan broke it, her voice thick. "Master Zhar's dead too, isn't he?"

Bastila's eyes were clear, glossed over with tears she wasn't letting fall. Revan wasn't sure if that was the emotions she wasn't showing herself, or if Bastila was feeling that all herself. "We have not had a chance to discuss Katarr..."

Revan nodded numbly and stared down at the empty husk of a body. Devoid of the Force. Devoid of anything. Just nothing. The last of her Masters to die.

She dropped the hand from around her wrist and pulled the hood over the old woman's face.

She only got a moment to compose herself with a deep shuddering breath, before that composure was broken--

"Are you Revan?" came a voice from the far side of the large room.

Revan jerked her head up to be face-to-face with a young girl, steadily making her way towards her. She looked so familiar-- "Who--"

"Revan?" came another voice from the woman next to her, holding her lightsaber like a lifeline. Her voice sounded like was cracked from disuse.

"Jene?" Rand said at almost the same time Revan did.

The blond Jedi walked towards her cautiously, eyeing Rand with a small smile and a sense of relief that seemed to flood the room. She glanced down at the body on the floor and her eyes widened. "Kreia? She's--" she shook her head and bowled straight past Revan, obviously purposefully and towards the pilot.

"What happened?"

Rand smiled easily and leaned back on his heels. "Well, see. First the old bitch knocked me out. And then she pretend to be you and then we knocked around a couple of a Sith Lords she had some issues with, ran astray of your old Mandalorian stomping grounds, Mira killed a Wookiee, ran into Revan, and hey, here we are rescuing you," Rand frowned at her. "You are you, right? How do we know for sure?"

"What do you mean Kreia was pretending to be me?" Jene grasped his arm. "What happened to the others? Are they all right?"

"What am I, chopped bantha gizzards?" Rand gestured to his chest and away again, grabbing Jene's arm in perfect parallel.

"No, that's not what I meant, Atton, I just-- are they--"

"Statement: Master, there are a number of HK-50 droids approaching on our location. Supplication: Because of their designation, I am unable to retaliate an attack."

"What?" Dustil snapped to attention, jerking his head towards the entrance to the ice caverns. "How many droids?"

"Qualification: I was speaking to my Master, sideburned meatbag. Suggestion: If you are having speech issues, I could cut through your throat, solving all the--"

"HK," Revan snapped. "Answer his question. How many droids, and why the hell can't you fire at them?"

HK-50. Why the hell did that sound so familiar-- she shuffled through her mind, trying to pick out the memory of that, but it was curiously blank.

"Answer," the droid whirred, his red eyes flashing, "Approximately, 45 HK-50 assault droids. Addition: _You_ programmed me that way, Master."

"Crap," Revan called her lightsabers to her hand. "We need to get up there, before they try to cut us off and trap us in here."

She didn't get a chance to hear their responses, because that's when Jene started to scream.


End file.
